Back to School
by DJRyce
Summary: 5 years in the future: Remy and Rogue have left the XMen, but find new challenges in the daily drama of supporting a family, finding a job, dealing with inlaws, etc. Current XMen and The End series. First published fanfic, would appreciate R&R.
1. A Day in the Life

_This is my first fanfic, so I'm still trying to figure out the best way to format, submit entries, etc. As mentioned in the summary, this story assumes that "X-Men: The End" represents the future for the characters. Remy and Rogue have been married, and are currently raising theireldest son Olivier.I'm not going to attempt to explain away any character changes in current X-Men story arc._

**Disclaimer:** The characters are copyright and owned by Marvel Comics.

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"An' yer sure she said she wants _both_ of us dere?" 

Remy LeBeau stood on the balls of his feet in a vain effort to catch a glimpse of himself in the tiny mirror atop his dresser, struggling to put on his indigo necktie. On his fourth attempt, he had accidentally loosened the tie too much, and any semblance of a knot completely fell apart.

From inside the connecting bathroom, the voice of his wife casually responded, "Ah think that'd be best, Remy."

Breathing a sign of exasperation, he set out to try again. "But why we gotta dress-up, chere? Y'know I hate dressin' up all fancy like dis. It makes me feel like… well…" He paused for a moment to try to think of an appropriate comparison which could most accurately personify the pretentiousness and priggishness he associated with the façade he was being asked to put on. "I feel like Scottie."

What sounded like a muffled snort eked out of the open bathroom door. Anna finally emerged from the bathroom, her head tilted to the side as she worked to affix a silver hoop in her left ear, the final accessory of her now complete outfit. "Y'know, there're worse men to compare y'self to than Scott Summers, Mr. LeBeau."

Remy was on the verge of coming up with a snarky comeback before he caught a glimpse of his wife standing before him, trying not to look like she was intentionally pausing for a pose. Not that it would have mattered. From top to bottom, her hair was neatly swept up in an elegant bun with a couple white ringlets framing her face. In addition to the tiny silver hoops, she wore a black drop necklace that plunged just low enough to maintain modesty. Although her outfit was relatively simple –a white silk blouse with a black knee length skirt—she dressed it up with a dark grey vest that was all too reminiscent of a corset. Finally a pair of pumps gave the illusion of length to her already lithe legs.

Remy let out a shrill whistle of approval for his wife, the model of sexy professional, seductive elegance. "Chere…. you…."

"Emma helped me pick it out." She cut him off she strode over to fix his tie, and continued talking while tying. "Y'know, fer all the crap you give Scott, y'gotta hand it to 'im. He always gets the hot women. In particular, seems ta have a telepathic fetish. There're some things that Emma wanted me to try on that'd make Betsy blush."

Remy couldn't help but grin wolfishly, even though she couldn't see as she was focused on his chest. With one last tug, she straightened his tie and brushed off his shoulders. "There." At last, she peered up and was able to return the leer he was giving her with a mischievous smirk and a slightly suggestive look. "Now you don't look half bad either." With the heels, she didn't have to reach very high in order to give him a quick peck on the lips, masterfully preserving her lipstick. Wrapping both arms in his, she turned herself so both of their reflections were visible in the mirror. She looked very comfortable snuggling the side of her face into his shoulder, but Remy looked nothing short of in pain. Although the dress shirt flattered his broad shoulders and wiry body, he looked incredibly stiff.

Perhaps the strangest part was looking at his face. As the self-proclaimed Prince of Thieves, Remy was not a stranger to acting and disguises, but something about the face staring back at him looked unfamiliar. For one thing, his lingering stubble was gone, leaving his chin clean-shaven and smooth. Even more drastic was the haircut Anna insisted that he get before this meeting. Although he would never admit to being so vain, Remy had always been proud of the long unkempt mess of brown hair-- he thought it made him look "rugged." Now it was gone. He wouldn't let the barber completely crop it all off, but the bangs that would typically have fallen to the sides of his face were now stylishly slicked back. Noticing her husband's apprehension, Anna quickly added, "Ah think ya look _very _handsome."

"I look ridiculous. I feel like I should be in a board meeting with Warren, discussin' buying out a small locally-owned business so we can erect a monolithic corporation that enslaves small Polynesian children, instead."

Anna playfully slapped his shoulder as she tried to stifle another laugh. "C'mon now, it ain't all that bad. Ah jus' wanna make a good impression with the staff is all."

"Anna," Remy looked at his wife in earnest, "Seriously… y'know I don' wanna do dis. I swear, dat place and dose people… seems more like a country club den a pre-school."

For a brief moment, Anna looked down at her feet, her teeth pressed into her lower lip. "Ah… Ah know, Remy." She held his hands as she looked back up at him, her emerald green eyes begging him imploringly. "But ya remember what we said when we first had Oli. Nothin' but the best fer our son."

Remy guiltily lowered his eyes, knowing that he could never win an argument, not with those damned eyes staring at him. "Yah… I 'member."

Gaining confidence, Anna began reciting the speech which had obviously been used in countless arguments before, "And Cutter Academy is the best pre-school in New England. By kindergarten, the kids're already s'posed to be at a third grade reading level, an' can do their basic math…"

"Alright, ALRIGHT. You win." Anna grinned in feigned victory, part of the reason she loved her husband so much was because he made it so easy to win. "We'll go… but don' get to excited. My experience is dat when a teacher requests a parental conference, it's not gonna be for anythin' good."

"Well…" Remy's ears perked up when the tone of Anna's voice suddenly went from pleadingly whiny to husky and breathy. As she slowly slid her hand into his pants pocket and withdrew a pair of sunglasses, he momentarily felt something else perk up. She continued slowly while unfolding the handles of the glasses, "If Olivier's been a bad boy, we'll just haveta ground him, won't we?" She leaned in close to his face to slide the glasses over the ridge of his nose, "But if his daddy's been bad..." She breathily whispered that last directly into his ear before biting his earlobe gently.

Remy exhaled sharply while suppressing a moan. "_Merde, _woman, now you juss causin' trouble. So let's just get dis over with… de sooner I'm outt've dis stupid outfit, de better."

Anna couldn't help but feel a little satisfied with herself, but she obliged by repositioning herself in front of the mirror, wrapping her hand in the crook of Remy's arm and clearing her throat. When she opened her mouth again, her trademark milk and magnolias accent had been reduced to the slightest Southern lilt, barely noticeable unless you were listening for it. She grinned broadly and spoke into the mirror "Thank you for seeing us Ms. Dufrane. I don't believe you've met my husband yet, Mr. Remy LeBeau."

Remy let out an exasperated breath and even behind the sunglasses, it was obvious that he was rolling his eyes. Anna never stopped smiling into the mirror, but the grip she had on his arm steadily tightened, her nails digging into the thin fabric of his shirt. Reluctantly, Remy rolled off the elaborate story that they'd rehearsed earlier. Although he managed to tone down the Cajun accent, he never had the need to practice a neutral accent as Rogue did, so the result was some bizarre fusion of new aristocratic French-cum-midwestern American. "Mademoiselle … I'm so glad to finally meet you. I'm Olivier's father, Remy. I graduated from _Le Academie Parisienne_, and I'm currently the head've an… auction house in New Orleans." As if admitting that he went to a French school wasn't enough, he could barely slog through the auction house bit. But it was the best thing the two of them could come up with as not to feel as if they were completely lying.

Seeing her husband's misery, Anna relaxed and let herself speak freely. "Alright… we can go now." Looking at him sincerely, she said, "Ah really appreciate this, Remy." And seeing that the gratitude seemed to be a very cold comfort, she tugged playfully on his sleeve and whispered, "An' when we get back, ah'll be _more'n_ happyto help ya get outt've that outfit." She turned around and walked towards the front door, grinning inwardly to herself as she knew he was leering lustily behind her.

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**A/N:** This chapter was meant to be an introduction, but there was more exposition than I originally planned for. For this reason, I've gone ahead and published the first three chapters, just to get an idea of what everybody thinks.Reviews will be greatly appreciated. If I continue, I can promise more action, drama, humor, and character appearances in the very near future. 


	2. The Dreaded ParentTeacher Conference

Unaccustomed to the stifling atmosphere of a classroom, Remy uneasily in his chair, letting his eyes wander the walls of the classroom. From the lurid finger paintings to the childish scrawl of developing handwriting, he felt strangely disquieted. Only until his eyes fall on an igloo snowglobe on the teacher's desk did he grin, albeit sardonically. He was barely 30, yet it had felt like lifetimes between his self-inflicted penance with the X-Men (which he affectionately referred to as his "Emo Phase") to current fatherhood. His dismal reverie was immediately shaken, however, by the unpleasantly nasal voice of the school teacher.

"Cream or sugar, Mr. LeBeau?"

"Uh… merci, non." Remy had accepted long ago that Americans (New Englanders no less!) would never master the art of making a decent café au lait, so he just learned to save himself the disappointment and forget it altogether. Gingerly taking the mug in his hands, he carefully sipped at the top before nodding approvingly at Mrs. Dufrane. Meanwhile, he made a mental note to stop by Hojo's on the way back so he could buy something to wash down the wretched taste of teacher's lounge coffee.

At this point, Mrs. Dufrane had situated herself back in her desk, looking superciliously at the couple. Remy couldn't help notice that even though Anna had a good six inches and probably thirty pounds on the woman, both he and his statuesque wife were awkwardly squeezed into kiddie chairs, pulled from the tables of the students. Not only did Remy feel ridiculous, he couldn't help but think that Ms. Dufrane knew that he felt ridiculous, but pointedly chose to do nothing about it.

It didn't take his undeveloped empathic abilities for him to know she was sizing him up; she was being incredibly obvious about it. He tried his best to feign obliviousness, staring into his coffee mug, all the while feeling Mrs. Dufrane's eyes peering at him from behind her glasses, as if willing her eyes past the shield that Remy's sunglasses provided. It was very troubling to Remy how truly threatened he felt by this feeble woman, even more troubling was that he felt almost relieved when she finally broke the silence.

"So… what is it exactly that the Guild Corporation does again? I've never heard of it."

"Dat's prolly," Remy instantly caught himself and started again slower, "Tha's probably 'cos it's a fam'ly business."

"I…see." Remy was inwardly kicking himself for the verbal slip-up, and he could tell that she wasn't buying it for a second. Her eyebrow arched as she asked accusingly, "And why is it that you're supposed to wear sunglasses indoors?"

Instinctively his eyes flew to the ground as he mumbled something incomprehensible about the optometrist. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Anna sitting stiffly in her chair, trying her best to look unfazed.

Mercifully, she finally cleared her throat, saving Remy from any further interrogation. "Mrs. Dufrane, I've an appointment uptown later this afternoon, and Remy has t'get back to the office. If it's possible, we'd like to beat the lunch rush, so couldja please tell us what this meeting is about?"

The teacher offered a simpering smile. "Certainly, I know we're all busy people. Soon enough recess will be over and I will have the children to tend to, so I will be as brief and to-the-point as possible. My… colleagues and I felt it necessary to discuss with you Olivier's place in the classroom. My classroom."

Anna's eyes widened in surprise while Remy remained stone-faced. Ms. Dufrane continued cautiously, "I personally do not feel that your son's… needs are being met in the classroom, and we would like to discuss the possibility of temporarily placing him in a… special section."

Anna looked from Remy back to Mrs. Dufrane, her expression confused. "Special? That's a good thing… right?"

"Exactly d'ye mean by 'special'?"

For the first time Ms. Dufrane looked flustered, but she swallowed and continued. "Well, you see, there's a bit more. Cutter is willing to accommodate Olivier for the remainder of the term, but we would like to highly recommend that you begin searching for a school where he could be a… better served."

Anna scooted to the edge of her chair and exclaimed, "What! NO! Why! Did he do somethin' wrong!"

Remy's mouth formed a very thin crease as he struggled to maintain his composure.

"No no, Ms. LeBeau. Olivier didn't do anything _wrong_ per se, his performance is actually quite remarkable for his age group. We just don't feel that our staff is suitably… trained to meet your child's needs."

Anna's eyebrows furrowed in frustration, as she tried to sift through the information. For Remy, though, the situation was quickly revealing itself as yet another reminder of how delusional the idea of a "normal life" could be. He pursed his lips again before starting slowly, "And what, exactly, are the 'needs' which the _esteemed_ staff at the _prestigious_ Cutter Academy have failed to meet?"

"I beg your pardon, sir!" Remy could tell he'd hit a nerve, and it made him feel good. "As school teacher, I am responsible for the safety of the students in my classroom. I've received several notices from parents who are concerned for their children. I think Cutter is being more than generous in permitting Olivier to stay as long as he has"

Remy responded in a low, ominous voice, his accent beginning to slip. "Den perhaps you'd be good 'nuff to inform those parents dat Olivier ain't nothin' but a four year old boy. Likes to play wit' action figures'n eat easy mac like all other _normal _li'l boys." As an afterthought, he quipped, "It'll be a good ten years b'fore his powers'll manifest, if any, and he becomes a proper threat to society."

Anna just buried her face in her hands while Remy sat stoically while he let the words sink in.

"But Cutter Academy has a reputation to maintain…" Mrs. Dufrane knew her reasons were weak, and she began shifting nervously in her seat as she struggled to find a halfway justifiable excuse. Suddenly, it dawned on her. "And…and, his eyes!"

At that, Remy tore off his sunglasses, revealing the menacing red glow flaring underneath. "An' what about his eyes!"

"Heavens!" Mrs. Dufrane fell back in her chair, clutching tightly to her heavily starched blouse.

"REMY!" Anna was positively apoplectic, but Remy just glared. A familiar pink glow began to envelop the ceramic mug he clutched in his hand and its liquid contents began to bubble. Anxiously she turned back to frightened teacher, begging desperately. "Please Mrs. Dufrane. Ain't there any way you could talk to the headmaster or the parents? Maybe we could keep Olivier in the special classes until--"

"Until what, Anna? De only reason dey wanna keep Oli around any longer's so we c'n keep payin' $1200 a month tuition. It's obvious he won' learn anythin' new while he's here."

"Excuse me, Mr. LeBeau--"

Remy couldn't brusquely arose from his seat cut her off—he wanted to make an exit as quickly as possible. "Pardon, mademoiselle, but I believe _you _may excusez _moi_." As he strode out of the room, he paused in the doorframe and motioned to Anna over his shoulder, "I'll wait f'you in de car."


	3. In the Playground

Remy could barely contain himself as he stormed outside the classroom. His lip was curled in an uncontrollable sneer, and his fingers were unconsciously twitching for a cigarette at his side. At his wife's request, he quit the habit when Olivier was born, and it surprised him how quickly the nicotine urges subsided. Hank would have attributed it to his mutant physiology, but Remy preferred to think he just had great self-control. Still, during those occasional particularly stressful occasions, damn, a smoke would be good right now.

"Poppa!" The craving immediately dissipated as Remy instinctively swirled to face the voice. His face instantly brightened as he turned to see his son eagerly bounding to him from across the schoolyard. Olivier leaped towards Remy, who easily scooped him in up in his arms and twirled him in what would appear dangerously high circles, if it weren't second nature for both of them. It made his heart soar to hear his son's squealing laughter, and by the time he gingerly set him back to the ground, he had forgotten all the ill will he held only moments ago. For a few brief seconds, it was just father and son, grinning and gasping to catch their breath.

Olivier caught it first, "So whatcha doin' here, pop? Is momma here too?"

_Oh yeah… that. Shit. _Any momentary feelings of euphoria immediately fled as Remy was reminded of his unpleasantly recent encounter. He unconsciously ran his fingers through his hair even though it was too short to do so, remnants of another nervous habit. "Uh… yah.'Bout dat…"

He stole a glance over his shoulder and saw Anna still chatting quickly to Mrs. Dufrane. He wasn't concentrating too hard on eavesdropping, but he swore he heard the words "unnatural" and "inconvenience." Remy entertained the fleeting thought of lying, Lord knows he'd done it thousands of times before, but for the life of him, he couldn't bring himself to lie to his son. Sighing defeatedly, he looked away, but responded honestly, "Yer mom'n I needed to have a li'l talk with your teacher."

Olivier's eyes widened in panic, "I'm not in trouble am I? I've been good, I promise"

Hearing the fear in his son's voice, Remy's heart nearly broke. "Non, non, Oli. You ain't in trouble." He gripped the boy firmly by the shoulders and knelt down to his level in order to look directly into his eyes. Green on black. "Nah, you didn't do nothin' wrong." He hugged him reassuringly, absently stroking his auburn hair.

Funny. Only a few years ago, Remy would have scoffed at seeing a grown man acting so openly affectionate and emotional in public. In fact, he probably would have made some assumptions about the child growing up soft or even worse, girly. All that changed when Anna gave birth to their son. From the first time he held the tiny infant in his arms, he knew that he wanted nothing more than to protect him, comfort him, and keep him safe. He nearly wept when the baby opened his eyes for the first time—for the first time it hit him that he, Remy LeBeau, Prince of Thieves, actually created something worth a damn. Something, beautiful. It was a feeling he was completely unfamiliar with.

Of course he loved Anna, there was no question. They had literally gone to the ends of the earth for eachother, were even willing to die for eachother. He joined the X-Men because he wanted to feel like a hero, but it was his love for Rogue that made him want to be a better man. Still, it was different because Gambit needed Rogue just as much as she needed him. She gave him hope that he could regain some of his humanity, he was her rock every time she felt confused or alone. The two of them had so much in common, their Southern upbringings, their foster parents, their incorrigibly cynical senses of humor—they were able to support eachother for years. But whereas Remy felt compelled to save the world when he was with Rogue, he only wanted to shield Olivier from it. Admittedly, both he and Anna were probably guilty of overprotecting their son, but that sort of thing happens when the parents are wanted mutant outlaws. Contrary to popular misconception, the decision to leave the X-Men was a joint decision on both parents' parts. Any need for adventure or excitement was immediately replaced by the paternal instinct to protect his child from any endangerment. And while he would never say it aloud, he couldn't help thinking that Cyclops' nigh on fanatic dedication to Xavier's dream essentially forced Cable and Marvel Girl to follow the same path. While Remy had nothing but respect for the both of them, he also pitied Nathan and Rachel, who never had the chance to experience childhood. Hell, even Remy had a tante growing up.

"Hey Momma!" The shriek over his shoulder shattered Remy from his reverie. Olivier started waving his arm happily, and Remy turned around to see Anna, waving back weakly.

"Hey there sweetheart!" she called back. The waver in her voice was just enough to keep their son from suspecting anything, but to Remy, it was obvious that it taking everything she had to keep from crying. She quickly retreated to the parking lot and promptly seated herself in the passenger seat. Remy took it as a hint.

Looking back at his son, he said, "Oli, your momma'n me have got some grown-up t'ings to take care of, now. But go home with Jeffy like always, and we'll be waitin' for you at home, d'accord?"

"Yes, poppa."

Placing his hands on his hips in mock sternness, he asked "An' what d'ya say to Ms. Bennett when she drops y'off?"

"Merci."

"Dat's right." Remy smiled indulgently at his son as he mussed with his unruly mop of brown hair. Anna may have made him cut his hair, but no son of Remy LeBeau was going to look like a boy scout. "Now you go back to playin' with your friends an' be good, non?"

Olivier nodded vigorously before scampering towards a group of boys, huddled around blue and yellow soccer ball. Remy looked on at his boy's retreating figure, apprehensive about how Olivier was really treated in school. When he saw the boy enter the circle without any notice or obstructions, however, he silently thanked God for the naivete and innocence of children. Then, sighing resignedly again, he started trudging back to his car and the "adult world," where his wife was impatiently waiting.

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**A/N:** So what does everyone think so far? I know these last couple of chapters haven't been that eventful, which is sort of what I'm going for, but I do want it to be interesting. There won't be much "comic book" action, but I'm planning on re-introducing some of our favorite characters really soon. Contrary to what the title may suggest, "Back to School" isn't necessarily referring to Cutter Academy... or Olivier. Please R&R! 


	4. The Carride Home

When Remy shut the door to their Volvo, the sound was deafening. He dared one look to his right and saw his wife staring intensely as her knees, willing the wetness in the corner of her eyes to stay there. Without saying a word, Remy turned the ignition and pulled out of the parking lot.

For a few painful minutes, they rode in complete silence, as if each daring the other to say a word. Remy knew this game well, especially in the last few weeks, they seemed to be getting into these situations more often than usual. Never let it be said that their relationship could ever be considered stable, but lately it just seemed like Rogue had been unusually irritable. The game followed a very specific pattern— almost like chess, Remy was always white. He always had to make the opening play. He hated this game, and his patience was quickly wearing thin with it.

Shutting his eyes for a moment, Remy took a deep breath and exhaled slowly out of his nose, mentally steeling himself for the inevitable free-for-all that was about to ensue. Even with his eyes closed, he could hear Anna shift position in anticipation. She knew the game, too.

After a moment that seemed like an eternity, Remy finally started. "So…."

"So," Anna agreed weakly.

Remy pursed his lips in frustration, annoyed that it was always his responsibility to start the conversation, effectively ensuring that she would find something wrong with what he said. But this situation was different. It wasn't something negligible such as Remy looking too long at an attractive waitress or something petty like his forgetting to pick up more milk from the store. In those situations, he would start off with a half-hearted apology quickly followed by a charming, humorouscomment to lighten the mood, finishing off with a make-up kiss to ensure that he would still have a spot on the bed that night. Today, at this moment he was pissed and felt absolutely no desire to feign diplomacy.

"I did nothin' wrong, and I not gon' 'pologize fer defendin' my son, so if dat's what you want, yer gon' be disappointed"

The directness caught Anna off guard, and for a split second she was caught speechless. Still, Remy knew better and was dreading the moment his wife would respond in the only way she knew: getting angry.

"Well, ah'm glad his education'n future means so much to ya!"

"Oh for God's sakes. Anna, de boy is four years old. _Four_. I don't t'ink Columbia has started takin' notes quite yet."

"Oh reaaaal cute, Monsieur Charming."

"You just wait, chere, I haven't even got any drinks in me."

"In case you didn't notice, our son just got kicked out of school! How can ya be so fucken nonchalant?"

"And how could you juss sit pretty an' watch while dat _bitch_ talked 'bout him like dat?"

Anna flustered for a moment, unsure of the best way to respond. For a moment Remy thought that he may have actually got in the last word, until Anna replied with the classic female move: she changed subjects.

"Ah knew we should've just made him wear sunglasses to school. Could've jus' said he had an eye problem is all. Would've prevented everythin'" She muttered this almost absently to herself. It was more for the sake of saying something during her "turn" in the argument-- filler if you will. She wasn't prepared for how defensive Remy became.

"Aw chere, you can't be serious. How you gonna explain to a kid dat he's gotta lie to all his friends just 'cause a coupla dere parents are a bunch've ignorant bastards?"

When her only response was to fume, he added softly, "De Rogue I married would've never let anyone pull dat shit on her son"

The last retort came out harsher than Remy intended, and he felt slightly guilty, but he felt even worse because he meant it. And because he predicted (correctly) that Anna would start crying in T minus 3….2…._Here it comes…_

"Oh, so now ah'm not juss a bad mom, but an awful wife, too?" Anna wiped her eyes with the inside of her wrists and scooted as far away from him as she was able in their car, peering outside her window.

"Anna…" Remy reached over with his right hand to stroke her hand only to have it brushed away. He wasn't surprised, but he figured he should at least make the effort. By now, his anger had died down, and he had shifted into conciliatory mode. "Chere, please…"

"Don't _chere_ me, Remy," Anna muttered between sniffles.

"You know I didn't mean…"

"Yeah, ah know"

She was being short with him, and he couldn't determine whether it was a good because she had stopped crying or bad because it meant things were about to get much worse. He opened his mouth as if to say something but promptly closed it and continued driving some more. They were back where they started, and until he felt comfortable enough to say anything, he kept his eyes on the road. During these silent parts of the fight, he couldn't help but let his mind wander. He was fairly certain that during these points in a fight, the woman would be intensely strategizing their next move. As a man, however, he welcomed it as an opportunity to distract himself with whatever crossed his mind.

They were nearing residential areas now, and as he took the exit to their neighborhood, Remy randomly remembered his fleeting thought during the conference. He figured he could chance a peace offering.

"Hey Anna, I was gon' stop by Hojo's for some coffee if y'wan--"

Anna cut him off before he could even complete his offer of truce "No thanks"

_Alright, still too soon. _

Remy didn't think too much about his wife's dismissal. He simply interpreted it as a sign that the silent treatment still wasn't over, so he just continued on normally. He drove to Hojo's, pulled into the back entrance, ordered his coffee in the drive-through, started digging around the ashtray to pay with exact change.

While he was searching for an extra three cents, Anna slowly began to speak up. "Ah- ah…. cain't drink caffeine."

Anna spoke so quietly, almost as if she were confessing something she was ashamed of. Remy didn't quite know what to make of it, except as interpreting it as a cue to commence conversation. He opted for the light-hearted comeback: "Well… dat's fine, chere. But you know ole Remy likes t'have his café in de morning, non?"

Suddenly, Anna reerupted into violent sobs, which got Remy really confused. "Chere, wha-"

"Oh Remy!" She cried hysterically, and between chokes and hiccups, she was unintelligible. She stopped long enough, however, to say as clearly and unmistakably,"Ah'm pregnant again!"

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**A/N: **I'm not one for 'shout-outs' or anything like that, but for those of you that reviewed my story, I really appreciate it. The comments were thoughtful and encouraging, and I hope thatpeople continue to read andreview.This chapter is a little more "talky" than the others, but I'm really pleased with it because I can really start moving forward. I hope you all enjoy it, because I know I'm looking forward to the next few chapters. I'm particularly excited because the next part will actually be my original idea for the fanfic, and I'm particularly proud of it. 


	5. His name was Ronnie

_Oh. _

Silence.

Remy sat gripping the steering wheel tightly, unsure of what he should be feeling at this moment. Shock? Joy? Guilt? To his side, Rogue was staring intently, unable to read the face behind the sunglasses. Her eyes were still pink and puffy from crying, but her bright green irises were glistening, waiting for any type of reaction.

"Remy, ah.."

"Anna, please. Not now"

"But ah th—"

She could hear the squeak of the leather as he squeezed the steering wheel impossibly tighter. Through gritted teeth he repeated, "_Please." _

At his unusually stern tone, Anna started sobbing all over again. Obviously she was trying to stifle them, producing the awful hiccupping, shallow panting sound of somebody doing a poor job of suppressing their cries.

"Sir, that'll be—" Both Remy and Anna swerved to face the new, unwelcome voice. The drive-through barista absently held out the coffee cup with his eyes still focused on the computer screen, searching intently for the subtotal.

When he finally turned around to face a stone-faced Remy and an obviously distraught Anna, he froze open-mouthed while his grip on the cup slipped. Without thinking, Remy instinctively stretched his arm out the window and deftly caught the coffee in his hand without spilling a drop. If possible, the boy's mouth dropped even lower. Absurdly, Remy's mind was reminded of the pimply squeaky-voiced kid from the "Simpsons." If it weren't for the gravity of the situation, he would have burst out laughing.

He then realized that that with the sunglasses, slicked back hair and suit, not to mention the current circumstances, Remy probably seemed pretty threatening. Not so much creepy guy in the alley threatening as heartless, powerful business guy who could pay somebody else to do his dirty work for him threatening. And this poor sap, not only did he interrupt an obviously personal issue between the gentleman and his lady, he nearly dropped his coffee. Despite his turmoil of emotions, the momentary thought overriding everything else: _I've gotta fuck with this kid._

With as much somberness as he could muster, Remy ever so slowly brought the cup to his face and made a grand production of inhaling the aroma deeply. All the while he kept his eyes fixated on the unfortunate cashier. Although he knew that the sunglasses were opaque enough to hide the redness of his eyes, judging from the kid's nervous reaction, he was painfully aware that he was being scrutinized. In the same serious manner, Remy started stirring his coffee in a slow, calculating manner, all the while keeping his gaze on the boy's quickly waning face. The cashier's eyes started darting back and forth, desperately looking for something else to look at, but being unwillingly frozen in place.

After a few agonizingly long stirs, Remy finally began to bring the rim of the cup to his lips. He took a sip and dramatically made a show of luxuriously rolling the liquid on his tongue before finally swallowing. The cashier held his breath, as if his entire life depended on Remy's approval.

After a few moments of shameless staring, Remy finally uttered, "D'anks…" His eyes flitted to the boy's nametag: Ronnie. "Have a good day, Donnie." With that, he broke eye contact and rolled out of the driveway, leaving a petrified but relieved high school sophomore in his wake.

As he escaped the boy's line of sight, a smile crept onto his face. _Dat poor bastard._ Before he was even fully out of the parking lot, he couldn't help but let out a hearty fit of laughter. It was stupid, he knew. But it was a release. And that's something he needed right now. Even Anna who had watched the entire exchange in complete silence and morbid curiosity began giggling uncontrollably in her seat. Between gasps of air, she said "Yer awful, Remy. Ah saw his face an' ah knew, ah just _knew_ ya were gonna do somethin'…"

Still chuckling to himself, Remy turned to face Anna, whose expression quickly fell as reality began to sink in again. When he reached over to take her hand, he was alarmed that she shrunk back slightly before placing it in his, more lightly and cautiously than usual.

Worried that she may be getting the wrong idea, Remy immediately placed the vehicle in park, right in front of the entrance to the street. "Anna," he started slowly. "I'm not mad." Seeing a glimmer begin to brighten in her eyes, he squeezed her hand reassuringly and repeated firmly, "I'm not."

He then released his grip on her hand to cup the side of her face with his palm. Cradling her head in his hand, he carefully stroked her cheek with his thumb. To his delight, he could feel her weight shift slightly as she responded to his caress. "You jus' dropped somethin' big on me, and I juss need a moment to t'ink 'bout it is all. Can you just gimme a few minutes, please?"

She nodded, looking at him lovingly with those pools of green. _God, she's beautiful_. "An' you know I love you, right?" It came out more desperate sounding than he would have liked, but he was pleased to feel her nodding vigorously into his hand again. Ripping off the sunglasses with his other hand, he leaned over the middle partition of their car to kiss her on the lips, quickly but tenderly. She responded stronger and more passionately than he would have expected, but who was he to deny his wife what she wanted?

**Honk honk**

"Getta room, Romeo!" Remy opened one of his eyes just enough to catch glimpse of a little man in the Kia behind them, making exasperated gestures through his windshield.

As she kissed him, Anna could feel the curl of a smile on his lips as he reluctantly pulled away. "Aaaah…New York. We continue dis later, non?"

Anna nodded silently again, but with a much healthier rosiness in her cheeks. Remy shifted his car back into drive and finally pulled out of the Hojo's parking lot.

* * *

A/N Okay, I never originally planned to write this chapter-- I knew I wanted the coffee kid to bea little bit comic relief, but soon it just ran away with it. As I kept writing though (I published 2 chapters this time!) I decided to keep this one, because it lightens up what I feel like is a long stretch of "serious" stuff. 


	6. Chere, ya got some 'splainin' ta do!

They finished the rest of the drive in silence, but a comfortable silence. Remy let his mind drift for the remainder of the ride, but not before stopping to appreciate how far the two of them had grown into their relationship over the last couple of years. Although they had always been deeply in love, they had not always known the best way to express it. Granted, her powers always created an additional element of pretty much perpetual sexual intensity, but physicality aside, they were both still young and immature. Although he no longer loved Bella, part of his heart would always belong to her. And that went for most of his other relationships as well, at least the ones that mattered to him. It was never a question of fidelity as much as connection. They didn't matter anymore, but he wasn't going to deny that they existed, either. Since Remy was her first (and he liked to think only) real love, she couldn't understand that. As her first serious relationship, she hadn't learned how to deal with conflict, except by yelling or pulling away, of course. He would never say it aloud, but Remy partially placed the blame on Mystique—not exactly a stunning track record of relationships herself. At any rate, Anna gradually came to understand the complexities and nuances of a mutual relationship, and both of them came to enjoy the less dramatic, but equally deep level of their love and trust.

After pulling into the garage, Remy silently helped her out of the passenger seat and holding her hand the entire way, led them both to the elevator, down the hall, and finally back to their apartment. It wasn't a gesture of chivalry or bravado, just second nature. They had finally reached the point where they didn't need to speak to communicate. There were no longer those lingering doubts or insecurities or paranoia about words that needed to be said. Just understanding. There was a time where Anna would have never let an argument go, as if she had a compulsion to fill in empty silence—much like their argument in the car only just a few minutes ago.

But since finally admitting her pregnancy, it was as if a burden had been lifted from her shoulders, and she was willing to let Remy deal with it. He appreciated that. So the first thing he did upon entering the apartment was locking the door and leading her to the sofa, gesturing for her to sit down. He knelt down on the floor next to her and took her hands into hers. He wanted to make it clear that she was his sole object of attention, and he was ready for her to unload all that she had been carrying.

"So… how—"

As if already anticipating his question, she answered "'Bout two 'n half months, now."

"_Merde_. _Deux! _Anna, chere…. When were ya gonna tell me? Why didn't you?"

The gears in his head were turning, and for a split second, he feared the worst. "You… you were gonna tell me, right?"

Anna's eyes widened in shock and horror as the implication sunk in. "No, NO! Of course…" She looked down and held her stomach in her hands, even though she hadn't begun to show yet. "Of course I want this! Ah juss…"

She looked up at Remy and licked her lips anxiously, as if unsure about how to approach it. Slowly, carefully pondering her words, she began, "Ah juss don't know… we're gonna haveta support two kids. Mah company won't pay for maternity leave 'n we're havin' 'nuff trouble as it is makin' ends meet, and…ah guess." Looking up earnestly, she finally admitted, "Ah dunno Remy. Ah guess ah juss wanted to have things figured out before ah toldja is all."

Remy nodded understandingly.

When he first learned about Anna's pregnancy with Olivier, it wasn't under the best circumstances, either. He had such mixed emotions about that period of time—they had just recovered from Golgotha when M-Day hit, and if that wasn't worse, Mystique had to come and complicate things. That was definitely one of the lower points of their already fragile relationship, so when Emma pulled Remy from a danger room session that one fateful day, he wasn't expecting good news. His expectations only lowered when he saw Rogue sitting on the chair, staring at the floor with her hands clasped around a tissue in her lap. Meanwhile, Emma was as officious as usual, sitting regally in her tasteless uniform, her stilettoed legs crossed, a gloved hand holding a champagne flute. "Thank you for coming, Gambit" Remy could not stand her when she spoke so disinterestedly. "Rogue has something she would like to share with you." _Well, duh. _

Still breathing a little heavily from the training session, he stood impatiently with his hands on his hips, an expression of "So what is it now?" on his face.

When she didn't say anything, Remy looked over at Emma, assuming that she was there to provide the "moral support" for whatever verbal thrashing he was sure to receive. Usually, Frost was more than happy to oblige. He was surprised then, to see Emma glance over, almost as if she was seeking permission to speak on Rogue's behalf. When Anna nodded in reply, Emma began slowly, pausing just enough for Rogue to chime in if she wanted to. "It seems that you two have not been completely… conscientious during your… sabbatical in Valle Soleada."

_Jesus. Dey brought me in here to talk about somethin' I did in SOLEADA! Merde, dat was months ago._

With a sigh of exasperation, Remy responded, "I'm sorry, you two. But you gon' haveta be a bit more specific… I dunno what yer talkin' bout."

Emma pressed her lips together, trying to re-word the last sentence as delicately as she could. "Well, it seems that an… unexpected souvenir from your retreat has made itself known. One in which both of you play _contributing _parties." Remy looked at her with an expression of complete confusion, in response, Emma merely blinked a couple times. For the life of him, Remy could never read her face—he swore it was the botox.

Annoyed, he finally turned back to Rogue who was now gripping her knees to her chest tightly. "Anna… you gon' tell me what's up? Or'm I gonna haveta keep waitin' for de White Queen to start speakin' an English dis Cajun can understand?"

Peering up at him with an empty look in her eyes, she said in a hollow but unmistakably clear voice, "Ah'm pregnant, Remy. Ah'm--" she corrected herself, "_We're_ havin' a baby."

_Oh. Shit. _

Although he knew it was just a figure of speech, for a moment, Remy swore he could feel his heart physically drop into his stomach. He wasn't unhappyper se, or even particular surprised— as careful as he was, he always expected that eventually, he'd have an accident at some point. In all honesty, he was amazed that he was able to avoid the situation for as long as he had. He figured it was be part karma and part probability. He was just shocked that it would have been with Rogue.

"How?" He started before instantly answering his own question and nodding to himself, "Oh, right… Soleada. Gotcha." The more he thought about it, the more it made sense. Although they were only in California for a couple months, they had years of repressed feelings and urges to unleash. Their attitude towards this new lifestyle was the need to make up for lost time, which they did so in spades. Unconsciously, he started pacing the room back and forth, the gears rotating frantically in his mind. Due to his rubber-soled boots, not to mention his silent thief's footfall, for a few excruciating minutes, there was silence in the room. Emma sat like a statue, her only movements following Remy with her eyes. Anna just sat with bated breath.

Performing an about face, Remy closed the distance between himself and Rogue, before kneeling onto the floor to match her eye level. "Anna, chere? What do _you _want to do?"

At that, Rogue seemed to awaken as she suddenly scooted to the edge of her seat and began spouting off a speech that she had obviously rehearsed several times in her mind. Emma watched on with a bemused expression on her face. "Ah wanna have the baby, Remy. An' more'n anythin', I want you to be its father."

Remy opened his mouth as if to intervene, but she just raised her voice to keep him from interrupting. "Ah've already talked to Emma about it… she can't teach me to control mah powers, at least not yet, an' I don't fully understand the details m'self, but I do know that what she can do is mentally freeze the synapses in m'brain that respond to mah X-genes that trigger…"

She began to trail off when she noticed Remy's blank expression and Emma's staple glazed eye look. Sighing loudly she concluded. "Mah powers'll be neutralized, Remy. Ah'll be able to deliver the baby without hurtin' it."

Remy's eyes widened in astonishment, but he was still too speechless to respond, which gave Rogue one last opportunity to finish her plea. Desperately, she leaned in close and looked at him with an almost manic intensity glittering in her eyes. "We can do this, Remy. We'll finally be able to have a family'n settle down."

She intertwined the fingers of her gloved hand in his, the familiar smoothness of her cotton gloves soft against his bare skin. She lowered her voice and continued, "We'll be able t'touch and be together… juss like ah always wanted, juss like _we_ always dreamed of."Her eyes darted quickly to Emma who was still as placid as ever before quickly gushing, "Remy, if ya ask me to, here'n now, Ah'll leave the X-Men an' start a new life with you'n our baby. Ah won't think twice about it"

"_WHAT!_" Anna bit her bottom lip and cringed slightly as Emma suddenly stirred from her daydream and stormed over. "That is most definitely _not _something we discussed. We talked about your powers and the delivery, Rogue. Naturally you'll have all the time to recover you need, but I am fairly certain that there was no talk about you or Gambit resigning from the X-Men."

Under her breath, Anna muttered, "Ah know, that's why ah didn't tell you."

"I HEARD THAT!"

As Rogue gained confidence, she jumped to her feet, and exploded, "Well o'course ya did! Yer a telepath! But that doesn't give ya the right to dictate mah future for me. It's _mah_ baby, Emma! It's _mah_ decision t'make!"

Emma's eyes narrowed dangerously as she crossed her arms and pursed her lips together. "Clearly you've thought about this-- how I wasn't able to sense it amazes me." Never one to admit defeat, the White Queen set her sights on a new victim. "Still...You've been awfully quiet, Mr. LeBeau. Surely you must have a position about this… situation."

Both eyes turned on Remy. Anna's conviction wavered slightly as she realized Remy hadn't said anything, but she remained defiant. Meanwhile, Emma tried her best to suppress a smirk of quiet victory.

"Chere…" he began slowly, gently massaging her hand between his. "I'm not gonna lie to you, not 'bout dis. Not a lot fazes me nowadays, but dis… I wasn't ready for dis." He exhaled sharply, and he could feel Anna shudder in his hands. He ran a nervous hand through his hair as he admitted, "I'm not sure we'll ever be ready for somethin' like dis."

He could hear Rogue stifle a sob as she tried to jerk her hand out of his, but he held on tightly. "_But_…"

He could feel both women perk up at this sudden development, and he would have made a production of bending down on one knee except he was already kneeling. The best he could muster was planting himself in that position even more firmly. Anna's eyes, already glistening with tears snapped open wide as she stared at him. He looked back at her, slightly in shock himself. He had rehearsed this moment hundreds of times in his mind. The setting and circumstances were always different; sometimes it was over champagne and candlelight, other times it was in the comfort of the bedroom he hoped to share with her someday. He had considered gimmicks such as slipping the ring beneath her pillow or baking it into a cake. There was one ridiculous moment where he thought about hiding it in an Easter egg. But in each scenario, he had meticulously arranged the most specific of details. His speech and proposal were to be elaborately prepared ahead of time—with the most poetic words which would articulate the depth of emotion he felt for her. Right now, his mind could only focus on one central thought: _What're you doin', LeBeau?_

He didn't have a ring. He didn't have a poem written. He had no plan. He was going in blind. And yet, once he started, the words just came on their own. And they were perfect.

"Anna Raven, I've made lotsa mistakes in my life. And de good Lord knows dat some of dem follow me every day. Wit' de X-Men'n an' my family and de guilds, hell even on my own I've tried m'best to fix 'em. But no matter what's goin' on in dis crazy life, de one t'ing that I'm thankful for in dis life is meetin' you. I've got regrets for every stupid thing I've ever done, but I'd do 'em all again in a second if I knew dat eventually, they'd bring me right back here, to you. I'm not a perfect man, Anna. I'm tellin' you now dat I'm not gon' be a perfect father, either. But if you'll have me, I swear to you dat I will do everythin' in my power to be de perfect husband for you and provide for our family"

His eyes were burning red now, as he struggled to maintain his composure. Gripping her hand tightly he whispered in an urgent voice. "Marry me, Rogue. We'll get away from here, and I'll be wit' you wherever you wanna go. I love you, chere, and for our child an' for me, I want you t'be my wife."

After that, the next eight months were a complete blur. To his elation, she accepted and they somehow managed to throw together a wedding before her stomach began to show. It was a small ceremony, not nearly as large as the Summers-Grey spectacle, but just as celebrated. To their surprise, most of the team was very supportive and even encouraging of the beloved couple's decision. Xavier gave Anna away, and Kurt performed the ceremony. Mystique and Augustus were nowhere to be found, and nobody seemed to mind a bit.

They didn't have time to think about it as they immediately began to try to establish their new lives together. Although Remy was happy to share his wealth with his family, Anna didn't want any of his money or affiliation with the guilds to be traced back to them or their child. That was understandable, but Remy felt it unnecessary to deny the generous gifts from Professor Xavier or Remy's family members. Still, Anna seemed to want to do things "the right way," so with the little money they had saved up from Soleada, they found a tiny apartment downtown.

When Olivier was born, Anna suggested that she find a full-time job with her prior law experience, while Remy would stay home and take care of the baby. She always had a plan, and he had no complaints. As a mutant, Gambit was always used to having one of the "weaker" powers on the team, especially in comparison to Rogue's seemingly endless strength. That knowledge never bothered him, since he knew that as de-powered humans, none of them were in better physical shape or more capable of taking care of themselves than he, save perhaps Wolverine and maybe Bishop. Maybe. As his son's caretaker, Remy never felt the slightest bit emasculated. Anna would work, Remy would watch Olivier. True, it wasn't the ideal arrangement, but that was just the way things were going to be, and so far it worked out fine.

_So what now?_

"Anna…dat was a silly reason to hide dis news from me, and you know it."

Anna wiped her nose, nodding in agreement. She looked back at him with a lopsided grin on her face. "Yeah… ah feel pretty stupid about it m'self."

The smile creeping on her face was infectious, and grinning broadly, Remy embraced his wife warmly. "Don' feel stupid, chere. Be happy! We're havin' a baby! Oli might be havin' a little brother soon"

Thrilled at his positive reaction Anna returned the hug enthusiastically, burying her head into his shoulder. For a few seconds, they just held eachother. After a few moments she whispered into his hair "Or sister."

"Hmm?"

Anna pulled away so she could face him. "Ah said, 'or sister.'"

Remy's smile broadened as he bobbed his head in agreement. "Oui, or sister."

Anna was relieved that he was taking it so well, so she finally felt comfortable to ask the question that had been plaguing her for all these weeks, "But Remy, what're we gonna do about money?"

Remy nonchalantly leaned in to steal another kiss before casually answering, "Simple, chere. I juss need to find a job!"

* * *

**A/N: **This chapter was a lot longer than I expected it to be, and I apologize if it became tedious. The last thing I want to do is write more Romy fluff. But to go where I'd like to with it, I felt it necessary to provide the backstory for how the characters got to where they did. I tried to make it as brisk as possible. Now that it's out of the way, though, I promise there wont' be any more extended flashbacks or angsty stuff- it'll all be moving forward. As always, your comments and feedback are very much aprpeciated and considered. Thank you for your time, and I hope you'll come back to see what unfolds.


	7. Overqualified

_**Four months later**_

Remy LeBeau inhaled sharply as he stuffed the key into his tiny Soho apartment. For a moment, he lingered outside in the hallway staring intently at a slight scratch in the mahogany door. Feeling very warm, he tugged at the collar of the cheap polyester imitation-polo shirt he had to wear for work. _Caldwell's Locksmith Co._ The poorly embroidered logo rubbed uncomfortably against his skin. Finally, he slowly released his exhalation and twisted open the doorknob.

Furtively sticking his head through the crack in the door, he peeked into the foyer and glanced around. _All clear_. He silently eased the door shut before tiptoeing towards the living room for another quick look around. His head swiveled from one side to the other. _Empty_.

"Hello?" Silence.

For a split second his spirits rose as he realized that nobody might be home. Heaving a sigh of relief he loudly dropped his briefcase in the middle of the floor before making a beeline for their tiny kitchenette. Mechanically, he felt around the dishwasher rack before finally retrieving a chipped glass, still slightly damp from the previous load. Their old freezer rumbled as it struggled and sputtered to churn out a few ice cubes. And just as he was about to raid his hidden alcohol stash to pour himself a stiff whiskey, there echoed from the bathroom,

"Remy? Izzat you?"

_Shit_. _Shitshitshitshitshit_. _Busted_.

"Yeah, chere. It's me."

Clouds of hot steam spilled out as Anna opened the door the bathroom door. Her hair was still dripping as she looked at Remy from across the room, her eyes wide in surprise. Inquisitive. "Remy? What're ya doin' home so early. Ah—"

"P-p-poppa?" Olivier stifled a yawn as he emerged from his room, groggily rubbing his eyes.

"Oli, it's juss daddy. Y'can get back to your nap."

Even from across the living room, Remy caught an unmistakable flash of emerald as his son's eyes glowed with instant recognition.

"Poppa!!!"

"Oli, no! Not now…" But it was too late, as the boy bounded to the kitchen, his arms wide open and his bare feet slapping against the tile. Flustered, Anna dove back into the bathroom, and Remy could hear the water being shut off and the faint bustling of a woman trying to quickly get dried off and dressed.

Meanwhile, Olivier had latched on to Remy's left leg, tugging energetically at the Dickies. "Poppa, poppa! You'll never guess what Petey did in school today."

Defeated, Remy bent down to pick up his son and place him comfortably in the familiar crook in his hip. With his free hand, he set the unused glass down on the counter and looked indulgently at his son. "Tell me."

Olivier started yammering incomprehensively, something about Lucy McGavin, a hot dog, and underwear. For the life of him, Remy couldn't follow, but he nodded interestedly nevertheless. Slowly father and son worked their way into the living room, where Remy plopped onto their worn maroon recliner and resituated his son on his lap. Olivier was in the middle of recreating a memorable soccer play from recess today when Anna finally stepped out of the bathroom, her hair wrapped in a tightly wound bath towel. Her fluffy terrycloth bathrobe accentuated the bulge protruding from her stomach.

"Pardon the interruption, gentlemen," she said as she edged herself next to Remy on the couch. She pecked him on the cheek before nuzzling her cheek into his shoulder.

"To what do we owe this… unexpected visit?"

_And so it begins_. "Ah…." Remy cleared his throat uncomfortably.

"Hey Oli? Daddy has t'talk to mama for a minute. Grown-up stuff. Y'think you can give us a li'l privacy?"

Remy cringed to himself, as that came out more impatient than he had intended. He could feel Anna's body shift awkwardly next to him, and he could hardly bear to see the crestfallen look on his son's face. And he couldn't blame him. Ever since he started his job downtown, they rarely had any time together, and it was hard on both of them. On weekdays (and the occasional Saturday), the only time they even saw eachother was the brief moments in the morning before he had to leave for work and Olivier went to school. With his extended work schedule and the hour-long commute, by the time Remy finally made it back to the apartment, Anna had long tucked-in their son for bed.

"Tell ya what, pup." He ruffled his mop of hair playfully. "After me'n momma take care of dis business, we go to Chuck E. Cheese f'r dinner. Dat sound okay?"

Immediately, Olivier's eyes brightened, an electric green. "Really? Ya mean it? Can Jeffy come, too?"

Remy gritted his teeth into a smile. "Yah, sure, why not? Now run along for a second, okay? I'll come getcha in your room later." Olivier grinned broadly before scampering back into his bedroom. Remy smiled grimly to himself as he waited for the door to close.

Anna peeked over her shoulder to make sure he was in his room before looking intently back at Remy. "Remy, sugah. What's wrong? Did somethin' happen?"

Remy swallowed hard before answering slowly, "I… I'm so sorry, chere. But dey… dey let me go at work today." He didn't try to hide the shame in his voice. Disgraced, he could not even stand to look his wife in the eye, instead choosing to stare intently at the tightly clasped hands in his lap.

Tenderly, Anna began to knead the skin on the back of his neck. Gently, and without any indications of judgement or anger, she asked, "Why? What happened, Remy?"

Remy hesitated, embarrassed. "Dis mornin' I popped open a car…"

Anna furrowed her brow in confusion. "Remy… Correct me if I'm wrong, but ain't it a locksmith's job to do that?"

"Wid'out usin' my tools…"

"Ah--"

"Den I hotwired her car for her"

"Oh."

"Apparently it's against company policy to be dat good at de job…" At this point, he buried his head in his lap, thoroughly humiliated. "I dunno what I was t'inkin' chere. I got so carried away wit' customer service and goin' 'above 'n beyond' and all dat…"

He looked so pathetic and truly remorseful that Anna couldn't help but feel anything but sympathy. She chuckled good-naturedly as she wrapped her arms around his shoulders. "Aw, sweetheart, I know ya tried."

Still wallowing in self-loathing, Remy shrugged off her embrace. "Don' patronize me, Anna. I don' like it. Not enough dat a man can't hold a decent job an' provide for his fam'ly, he's such a goddamn loser dat his wife is laughin' at him."

At this, Anna's face darkened as she shrieked, "REMY LeBEAU! You shut yer mouth right this instant!"

Caught off guard by her sudden turnaround, Remy did exactly as she commanded, mostly because he was rendered speechless. As he looked up at her in surprise, she guided his face between her cupped hands, leaning his face into hers. Her expression softened as she gazed intently into his eyes.

"Ah will _not_ sit back and listen to ya pop off and feel sorry fer yerself because you were doin' yer job. Fer Christ's sakes Remy, you were way overqualified for that job anyway. Everyone knows you can pick a lock blindfolded, handcuffed, and naked underwater if ya had to. The only reason you even bothered with those dang tools to begin with is to humor yer boss. An' if they can't…. appreciate yer… talents, then I say screw 'em."

"But Anna-"

"Shhh. Hush now." She pressed a finger against his lips, as she continued. "Yer a good, kind, decent man, Remy. All ah see from you is a guy willin' to work insane hours for piss-poor pay in order to make a few extra bucks for his wife 'n kids Yer a wonderful father. And the husband of my dreams." She tenderly planted a kiss on his downcast forehead before whispering, "Ah'm so proud of you fer tryin'."

Regaining a bit of his confidence, Remy nonchalantly murmured, "_Merci, mon amour_." He fixated his eyes, now burning crimson with intention, onto his wife as he lightly kissed the fingertip still hovering on his lips—simultaneously the most innocent, but most intimate of caresses. Immediately, Anna could feel the warmth rising in her cheeks and spreading down her neck.

Pleased with the reaction, Remy grinned mischievously before leaning in to kiss his wife properly on the lips. He lingered a moment to peck her playfully on the nose before gingerly placing his head onto Anna's lap, taking care to keep most of his weight lifted off of her. His feet rested on the armrest of the couch as he nested comfortably into the softness of the robe and curves of her body. He suddenly shifted his neck upward to kiss the side of her stomach before plopping back down.

For a few uneventful minutes, they sat in silence, Anna lovingly running her fingers through her husband's hair, her other hand intertwined with his. Remy absently drummed his fingers as he stared at the ceiling. As a couple that had been denied the simplest touches for so long, these moments were always cherished. Remy loathed to break the silence, but after a while, "Sooo…."

"Mmm?"

He sat up to rest against his elbows, shaking Anna's hand off his head. "_Chere, _you know we gotta problem."

Anna sighed exasperated, knowing that she could not distract him from their situation for much longer. "Sugah, we've always got problems. And we always find our ways outta them. So don't worry, we'll get to it soon, 'nuff. But ya think it could at least wait til after dinner?"

Remy slapped his forehead, having completely forgotten his promise to Olivier. "_D'accord._" Although he knew the family probably couldn't afford going out to eat for a while, he wasn't about to disappoint his son. He pulled out his wallet and riffled through the bills before asking, "Is momma comin' wit' us, tonight?"

Anna looked down, gingerly rubbing her stomach. "Well, now that ya mentioned it…we have been cravin' some pizza lately…"

Remy chuckled heartily. "Yeah… right. An' I bet you gon' tell me dat it's de baby dat woke me up at 2 o'clock dat morning to buy pretzels an' Rolos."

Anna responded by blowing a kiss before disappearing into their bedroom to change.

* * *

**A/N: **Please accept my sincerest apologies for taking such an extended break. Originally, I always planned to take a break from writing so I could give the illusion of passing time, but I know it has been more than 4 months since my last update. School got the best of me, but the story never left my mind. In particular, I have **Professor Horatio** and **troubledobsession** to thank for those encouraging comments that pushed me to keep going. I'm glad that there are those who think this story is worthwhile, and I hope to have another chapter finished by next week. Keep the reviews coming... I drink them like milk. :-) 


	8. Contingency Plan

It was nearly 11 by the time they drove into the parking lot. The restaurant itself wasn't that far away, but as luck would have it, Jeffy lived about half an hour away, so they had to double back twice to pick him up and get him back home. By then, Olivier had fallen fast asleep in the backseat, clutching tightly to one of the many stuffed animals and toys that Remy had acquired from the claw machine.

Remy turned off the engine to their grateful, exhausted Volvo and stole another kiss from his satiated wife before getting heading out of the car to fetch Olivier. Deftly and silently maneuvering him out of his seatbelt, Remy hoisted him onto his shoulder and carried him all the way to his bedroom. Anna waddled behind them, struggling to keep up while carrying all toys and prizes.

Not wanting to jostle Oli by messing with sheets, he simply eased him on top of his cushy Spider-Man comforter and wrapped it around him. He planted a light kiss on his forehead before flipping on a lamp and tiptoeing out of the bedroom.

When he came out to the living room, he saw Anna sitting on the couch, buried underneath a mountain of plush and silently chastising her husband's immaturity with her eyes.

"Hey, d'ose places cheat you. No matter how good you play, dey'll only give you 5 tickets each time. It'd take a small fortune to have 'nuff to buy somet'ing. Dis way," he dramatic swept his arm to gesture at his bounty, "Ever'one wins. I still had to buy de tokens…"

"Remy, the manager had t'ask us to leave."

"Discrimination! I on'y wanted to try de claw game. Who knew dat I'd be so good at it?"

"Ah think that's the first time in history that a 17 year-old had to escort a full-grown man outta a Chuck E. Cheese 'cause his game was too hot."

"I got lucky."

"Remy! Jeffy and Oli were making requests about which toys they wanted." Scrambling around, she dug out a blue penguin with a ridiculous toboggan. "Ah think you managed to pull this one out from under another toy."

"Well technically, I just fished out de other toys on top first…But dat don't mean I couldn't do it if I wanted to." He winked and smiled roguishly at his wife. As soon as she rolled her eyes in response, he knew that he got the last word.

"Yer such a kid sometimes." She crossed her arms and pursed her lips petulantly for a moment. Suddenly, with a mischievous glint emerging in her eye, she chucked the penguin across the room, hitting Remy squarely in the face.

"Hey!!!!" He vigorously rubbed his cheek with his hand. Despite having lost her Ms. Marvel super-strength, Rogue still kept in remarkable shape. Remy quickly learned that she had a strong arm long before ever joining Mystique's brood ("Seven years've softball, sugah,"), and he was fairly certain that she worked-out that much more to compensate for her lack of powers.

"Dat kinda hurt, _chere…_"He scooted over to her, nuzzling his head into her lap. "Shame on you fer playin' so rough."

"Awwww… baby." Anna crooned, playing along. "Momma's sorry" She started running her fingers through his auburn hair.

"Dat's okay. You know I like it rough."

Anna raised her hand as if to strike him again, and she seemed quite satisfied with herself when she saw him flinch involuntarily. Grinning to herself she dropped her hand and sunk back into the cushions of the couch.

"So…"

Remy groaned and buried his head into her lap, shouting something muffled into the cloth. The last thing he wanted to shatter this moment was a reminder that they were still in financial straits, and tokens engraved with oversized rodents were not a valid form of American currency.

"Sorry, sugah? Ah didn't get that."

Remy remained silent for a long time, and Anna let it stay that way.

With his eyes tightly shut and his entire face burrowed in his wife's dress, Remy started having these awful flashbacks of the four months prior to his finding work. Painfully uncomfortable interviews with snot-nosed HR people whose meticulous screening process seemed to be some subconscious overcompensation for their own material insecurity. Uppity yuppies fresh out of some small Northeastern schools, who in addition to shopping at stores like Hollister and A/X, seemed to think it exceptionally stylish to have those cellular earphones clipped on at all times. They all had very generic names with ridiculous spellings and awkwardly stressed syllables like Mykael, Kahrl, and LaRenn. Condescending little pricks.

The most difficult part was definitely answering some very awkward questions about Remy's "education." Thankfully, the public only knew the name "Gambit" as one of the criminals from of the outlaw X-Men terrorist group. Although he never used that codename with the Thieves Guild, the guild had never been _caught_ with any illegal activity, so 'Remy LeBeau' had a clean record. Not that that helped.

"_Your knowledge of our product is exceptional. Where did you learn so much about our complex security system interfaces?"_

"_I've never heard of Xavier's Institute. 'Gifted youngsters?' Sounds kind of made-up to me. Is it like a magnet school or something?"_

"_Could you be more specific about your 'freelance property and artifact retrieval services'?" _

"_Huh, I've never seen 'skilled in hand-to-hand combat' as an area of specialized skills and training before." _

"_Wow, you speak French fluently?! That's great, too bad that nobody else does."_

And then there of course there was this exhaustingly bubbly blonde from Supplier Diversity. Her nametag read "Aimee," and the "i" was dotted with a heart. The "interview" primarily consisted of her rapidly skimming his resume and jotting down a note on a sheet of paper. Remy stole a quick glance, but could only make out an intricate doodle of glittering purple flowers on vines around a margin before Aimee started fumbling around the various sheafs of paper on her desk. She pulled Remy's resume behind her desk, hidden from view, but he was fairly certain he heard the distinctive sound of a shredder which she was poorly trying to disguise by talking loudly. "Appreciate your interest… other applicants … be in contact."

Although he couldn't hear, Remy was fairly certain she was giving him the template polite rejection speech. "I'm sorry, what was dat?"

She kicked the shredder impatiently before looking up exasperated, "What I was saying was--" It was the first time she actually looked into his face, and immediately her expression changed.

"I'm sorry, I only _just_ noticed your condition!! Under these circumstances, we would _love_ to have someone of _your_ kind to join our team! Here at Sanford and Son, our policy is _very_ clear about equal opportunity—we actually offer limited health benefits for those with unfortunate genetic disabilities!"

She was beaming at him as if she just offered a very special treat. Remy found it very unsettling when she smiled, her teeth looking unnaturally white against her tangerine-tinted Mystic Tan. Just the memory caused Remy to shudder involuntarily.

With his head still buried in her lap, Anna made another attempt to break the silence. "Remy…?"

A muffled grunt was her reply, and for a moment, she felt his body go slack as he slumped even further. Slowly though, he began to pull his way back to an upright position, sitting next to her on the couch.

"You know we discussed dis earlier. Our 'contingency plan' in case nothin' else worked."

Anna smirked solemnly. "Y'know ya could always juss try to look for 'nother job before we-"

"NON!" Remy crossed his arms and shook his head vigorously, and Anna inwardly laughed at how similar Olivier looked when he was unhappy. "Non… I don' wanna go t'rough all dat again. Nah…I t'ink it's our only option."

Anna caressed his shoulder lovingly. "It's your choice, sugah. Ah'll support your decision either way."

"Oui… I know. _Merci_." He leaned in to kiss her tenderly on the cheek, before standing up from the couch in order to reach his cellphone. Scrolling through his contacts list, he finally landed on the entry "ICE" in case of emergency (**A/N** see note)

Sighing resolutely, he pressed the "talk button."

_**Ring Ring**_

_Thank you for calling Xavier's Institute for Gifted Youngsters, Westchester Branch. You have reached the Cerebra automated calling system. If you know your party's extension please dial it at anytime. Otherwise, please listen carefully for our options have recently changed. To report a possible mutation, please press one…_

As the robotic voice droned on, Remy looked up and mouthed the word "extension." Anna responded by mouthing and signing the four digit number. Remy punched in the number, and immediately met with _Please hold while we forward your call._

Remy rolled his eyes as non-descript jazz music started playing. Fortunately, it was only a few seconds before the line started ringing again.

_Hi, you've reached the personal line for Headmasters Summers and Frost. Our normal office hours are nine through four Monday through Friday, and eleven to two on Saturday. Please leave your name, number, and a brief message and we will be in touch with you shortly. Thank you. _

Remy frowned slightly when he heard Cyclops' awful attempt at sounding chipper. Nevertheless, he exhaled sharply before making his best attempt to sound casual. "Hello _mes amis_, it's Remy. Long time, I know. Anyway, I was goin' to make my way downtown on business, so I was thinkin' I might stop by for a chat or somethin'—see how the gang's all doin'"

He felt a poke and glanced over to see Anna smiling and waving. "It's juss gon' be me, but Anna says hi. Til then, can't wait" Remy couldn't help but grimace before finally closing his phone.

* * *

**A/N**. So there you have it guys! My secret plan for this story is finally coming together... 8 chapters and 10 months later. Sorry. I didn't realize how bloody descriptive my writing was. I know I've been promising much faster movement, for a while now, but I really mean it this time, because I'm ready to tie up this story so I can begin some of my other projects! That said, this story is very close to my heart, and I'm excited to write some fun episodes that have been in my mind from the first time this story came to me. I'm hoping to have this whole shebang finished by the end of May-- I'll have a couple free weeks of glorious nothingness after graduation.

The whole "In case of Emergency" is something that I learned in my emergency response training (one of the many reasons I've been too busy too write in the last few months). Heaven forbid any of you end up unconscious in an accident or anything, but cops, firefighters, paramedics, all encourage citizens to program an "ICE" number in your phone so they will know who to contact in case of an emergency. For example, my ICE entry is my house number, and I've also listed my mom, nearest relative, and best friend under the various other labels. They're all double entries, so I can still search for "Home" or "Mom" if I need to. Just my random tidbit of community education.

I figured since Remy and Rogue were mutants, it was highly likely that any emergencies they would find themselves in would be out of the jurisdiction of your typical law enforcement, so it'd make sense that they'd want to call their old pals the X-Men to bail them out if they needed to. ;-)

Anywho, you know the drill. I always appreciate comments and reviews, and it's a pleasure to know that people took the time to read my story.


	9. Negotiation

Early the next morning, a tired and bleary-eyed, Remy made his way down to the car. When he pulled out of the garage, he could only make out faint tinges of the sunrise. He glanced at the stereo clock. 5:48.

He was running on less than five hours of sleep in hopes of beating the rush hour traffic. If he was lucky and could get a good head start, he might make it there by 8. Absently, he wondered if he pulled into the Hojo's drive-thru again, if Donnie would recognize him. Probably not. His hair was beginning to grow back in, and his face was sporting a grizzled look as he did not have time to shave this morning. Without Anna's guidance, he spent most his time awake trying to figure out what to wear.

_How the hell do you dress for an interview like this? _

Eventually, he opted for a maroon polo and some black slacks, business casual that wouldn't rumple too much during the drive. The fact that the color scheme was so reminiscent of his original X-Men costume was not lost on him, and after a bit of rummaging in the closet, but he was able to dig out the old leather duster. He thought about wearing it for "old time's sake" but he could not find anyway to match it with his civilian clothes without feeling utterly ridiculous. Nevertheless, it was sitting neatly folded on his passenger seat.

The ride was fairly uneventful, truth be told, he spent a large portion of it waiting on the bridge, watching hobos in wheelchairs rolling along the sidewalks at a faster clip than the traffic. Nevertheless, once he got out of Manhattan he was able to enjoy the Victorian scenery as he entered Westchester County. Turning onto Greymalkin, he felt an inexplicable warmth in his stomach. From outside the ironwrought gates, the Institute looked positively quaint. As he approached the front gate, he rolled down his car window and pushed his thumb to the intercom.

"Welcome to Xavier's Institute for Gifted Youngsters, how may I help you?"

He cleared his throat before enunciating into the box. "Remy LeBeau. I have an appointment wit' de headmasters."

"One moment…ah, okay. I see you. Just pull in, and the visitor's parking will be on your left. Headmaster Summers' office will be on the first floor, second room to your left."

With that, the iron gate separated slowly, making that awful sound of metal on concrete. It was so weird to be considered a "visitor," as if he didn't know about the subterranean hangar or how to get to the Headmaster's quarters. Granted, during his time on the X-Men, Remy had only visited Xavier's office on a handful of occasions. When he first joined the team, he saw fit to memorize the schematics of the estate should he ever feel compelled to pull a quick heist and leave. Although he eventually decided against it, he was more familiar with the grounds better than he had ever let on.

As he entered the foyer, he was overwhelmed by a flood of memories—the plushness of the drapes, the hollow echo of his footsteps against the marble ivory floor. Aside from the addition of some garish modernist paintings (Emma's influence, no doubt), the interior of the mansion more or less retained its timeless quality. He probably would have taken his time exploring some of the newly renovated wings, had his thoughts not been rudely interrupted by an unexpected presence skimming the surface of his mind.

**_We've notified the headmasters of your arrival, Mr. LeBeau._**

Startled, he vigorously shook his head as if to remove any residue from the intrusion before heading towards the office. All psychics have a distinct "voice" when communicating telepathically, and he vaguely recognized the imprint of this one. It had had a stereo effect which he found unsettling, as if the thoughts themselves were echoing in his skull.

**_We heard that….thank you_**

He rolled his eyes as he neared the heavy mahogany doors of the office. He rapped lightly against the wood with his knuckles and waited, his ear slightly tilted toward the door. After a pause,

"Enter."

Remy rolled his eyes again, marveling at Scott's seemingly effortless ways of being completely melodramatic. He had the vague mental image of a cloaked Emperor Palpatine sitting on his throne in the Deathstar, uttering "enter."

**_Hahahha….. that's funny._** The sound of mental laughter filled his mind with a tickling sensation, like bells or clinking china. It was an unusual sensation.

He concentrated on thinking "STOP THAT!" as loud as he could. Although he couldn't quite articulate it, he felt the telepathic presence brusquely sweep across his mind. In fact, he got the distinct impression that they (whoever "they" were) had left his mind in a huff, leaving lingering feelings of distaste. He shook his head once more as he tried to clear any errant thoughts before opening the door.

As he entered the office, he saw Scott hunched in a high leather-backed chair, scribbling furiously over his desk. Meanwhile, Emma Frost, his wife and co-director of the institute, stood at his side, peering imperiously over his shoulder. Without deigning even a glance at their guest, Emma muttered, "Sit down, LeBeau, we'll only be a second."

Obediently, he sat down in the plush maroon chair adjacent from the Professor's desk. Internally, he had to remind himself that it was now Scott's desk. Although it was difficult for him to think of this office as belonging to anybody other than Professor Xavier, he had to admit that Scott looked the part. In place of the familiar blue and gold uniforms he had long been associated with, Scott was looking positively civilian in his business suit. Although his suit jacket was hanging on the back of his chair and the sleeves of his otherwise perfectly starched Oxford were rolled up to his elbows, Remy had to admit that the man was looking smart. He also noted somewhat admirably that Scott had replaced his ridiculously unwieldy ruby quartz visor with a specially designed pair of thin, stylish frames.

Behind him, Emma appeared to be every bit the micro-manager Remy had known she'd be. Her icy blue eyes darted quickly across the page, rapidly scanning every document Scott was initialing and signing. Every now and then her delicate brows would furrow as she read something she disapproved of. At one point, she tutted loudly and pointed to the paper with a long manicured finger. No words were exchanged, but she glared icily at Scott who bristled in his chair. Remy soon realized that they were having a telepathic conversation, one in which Emma was clearly dominating, and Remy politely sat out of it. It had been a while since he had visited the mansion, and it was troubling how displays of mutant power now seemed unusual to him. _Had it really been that long?_

**_Stop being so melodramatic, LeBeau. The girls already told me why you're here—we'll get to you in a minute._**

Remy flinched, recognizing Emma's characteristically sharp voice in his head. _Girls..._ Instantly, Remy realized why he recognized the voices in his head. It was those blonde Cuckoos that Emma liked to keep around. He shuddered involuntarily. He had always found them disturbing. It wasn't their identical appearance that bothered him, Lord knows Remy LeBeau had known his share of twins (…and triplets). No, it was more that their personalities and character traits were practically indiscernible.

Thinking aloud, he broke the silence "Telepathic PA system, eh?" He whistled appreciatively. "You guys really are really soupin' dis ol' place up, neh?"

Emma breathed audibly, inhaling and exhaling deeply, her annoyance obvious. Her lips formed a thin line as she struggled to keep her composure. Scott, however, seemed to eager to change the subject and he immediately piped up.

"Good morning, Gambit! It's good to see you. You look….g-great" He stuttered unconvincingly.

"Scott…it's been what… 14, 15 years now? Don't you t'ink it's bout time you started callin' me Remy?"

Scott cleared his throat awkwardly. "Hmm… yes, perhaps that's… uh"

He stole a glance at his girlfriend. That turned out to be a mistake as she was glaring daggers at him. Quickly, he shifted his attention back to Remy, and squeaked, "Was there something you wanted to talk about?"

Taking his cue, Remy scooted forward on his chair and opened his mouth to speak, only to be interrupted by a very cross Emma Frost.

"Oh hell, Scott! Isn't it _obvious_ why he's here! The bum needs a bloody _job_."

Scott paused, and Remy noticed that his body twitched ever so slightly, but if the headmaster was having any sort of a reaction, he hid it well. More than anything, he seemed curious as he tilted his head inquisitively and leaned forward in his seat. "Is this true, Remy?"

Although his facial expression was hidden behind the crimson glasses, Remy could practically feel the heat of his old team leader staring at him intently. With his hands folded and resting against the desk, Remy couldn't help but compare his demeanor to Professor Xavier. Meanwhile, Emma stood with her arms crossed, her stiletto heel tapping impatiently against the hardwood floor. Obviously, she still blamed him for "stealing" Rogue from the X-Men. He suddenly became incredibly aware of the warmth in the room.

Clearing his throat, he responded simply, "Uhm… yah."

At the unmoving stoicism of the two headmasters, he felt prompted to continue. "You know dat Anna's pregnant again… an' money's tight 'cos she can't work…."

Emma scoffed loudly and derisively, and Remy felt a swell of anger. Glaring at her, he burst, "Oh gimme a break, Emma. It's not as if I _want_ dis job. Dis is our _last_ resort. Or have you forgotten dat both of us have already been offered full-time faculty positions?"

Her eyes narrowed dangerously, and Remy was satisfied with her reaction. Mockingly, he continued, "Multiple times, in fact."

At this point, he swiveled back to Scott. "So to answer your question, Summers, I'm not actually _asking _for a job. I'm here to finally _accept_ yer offer of a teachin' position."

His confidence much higher, he comfortably retracted back into the chair, trying his best to stifle the smug grin he felt pulling at his lips. Emma looked positively apoplectic. After a long, pregnant silence, Scott slowly turned to Emma. "You know, it was Professor Xavier who offered the job… technically, we don't have the power to actually retract it. Especially since he never officially answered."

"You can't be serious! This is the man who slept through half the Danger Room sessions! The man has zero experience, and no teaching credentials, whatsoever."

Without missing a step, Remy drawled "An' de Wolverine does?"

Emma didn't try to hide the snarl on her face. Remy interpreted that as a concession. "I suppose you'll be wanting your old room back."

At this point, Remy did falter a bit. "Ah- well, actually… dat's something else we'll need to discuss." He continued quickly before either of them could stop him. "Anna's actually going to be staying with Olivier back in Soho. So I'm actually gonna need a few extra days off to go back home on de weekends."

"You… only want to teach part-time?"

"Umm, oui. But I still want de benefits."

"So you want part-time until Rogue has the baby?"

"Ummm, non. Well, yah. What I mean is dat after Anna has the baby, I won't need dis job anymore. And don't bother putting me back in de field, Anna specifically said no missions. Jus' mansion stuff."

Emma was holding the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger, a vein beginning to pulsate at her temple. "What you're saying, is despite having quit the X-Men, you want us to hire you. Without putting you on the active roster. Without any prior experience. On a part-time basis. Knowing full well that you'll be quitting in three months…"

He put up his finger to add something, but Emma continued through gritted teeth, "And you want full-time benefits."

Remy took a moment to review everything in his head. "Yeah, I t'ink dat sounds about right." held his breath as Emma and Scott reverted back to a telepathic conversation. After a moment, Emma briskly turned around in what Remy hoped was defeat.

Finally, Scott extended his hand across the table. "You can report back here, same time tomorrow morning."

* * *

**A/N:** Okay, so a little late. I'm sorry. I've actually had this chapter on my computer for a while, it just wasn't complete. I hope it was worth the wait, because I'm really pleased with the way it came out. Thanks to all of you for sticking with this story, please keep an eye out for the next chapter, because it's actually the inspiration for this whole story. By that, I mean I began with this idea of Remy coming back to teach, and everything else came from there. As always, reviews are appreciated and enjoyed. 


	10. Training Day

Remy had no problems getting up early the next day-- mainly because he didn't get much sleep the night before. For the sake of his wife and bedmate, he tried his best to keep from tossing and turning too much. But he just couldn't seem to shake the dull, queasy feeling in the pits of his stomach. It wasn't that he was kept awake by any thoughts or worries in particular. Fragments of teaching scenarios would play in his head, but nothing particularly developed. It was more a general, nondescript feeling of anxiety that had prevented him from drifting off to sleep. At about a quarter to five, he gave up trying and silently slid out of the covers. Mercifully, the tightness in his stomach softened as he shifted from his recumbent position.

Quietly, with the stealth of a thief, Remy started gathering the things he had packed up the night before. His eyes emitted a muted crimson glow as he concentrated to make out the shapes of their furniture in the dark. He dressed in the dark, having set his clothes out on a chair the night before. With his duffel bag slung over his shoulder, he strode over to Anna's side of the bed and knelt down beside her. The redness of his eyes bathed her face in a soft pink glow. The ringlets of her lush hair cascaded over face and she was breathing shallowly, creating a cherubic effect. He noticed her hand was placed protectively around the noticeable bump on her stomach. For a moment, Remy's breath was caught in his throat. He felt a tightness in his chest, imploring him to return back to his rightful place in bed. Slowly and reluctantly he leaned over to plant a soft kiss on her temple and to lovingly caress her swollen stomach. Her eyelids fluttered at the pressure, and she let out a soft whimper.

Brushing his lips against her ear, he whispered, "Shhh…it's only me. It's early. Go back to sleep, chere. I'll call you later." His eyes reddened slightly as he subconsciously activated his low-level empathic charm.

Anna responded in her sleep, "Mmmmmmkay."

Amused, Remy smirked before squeezing her hand one last time. "Je'taime, mon amour."

Anna stirred, wrapping the sheet more tightly around her body. She exhaled softly, and still mostly asleep, she mumbled, "Love ya too…"

Satisfied, Remy finally arose and left the room, taking care not to squeak the door as he closed it. In the hallway, he tiptoed to the cracked door of Olivier's room. Peering in, he caught a glimpse of his son sleeping soundly in his Spider-Man bed. His mouth slightly ajar, he was snoring softly. His arm was clutched tightly around a stuffed purple Lockheed doll.

For a split second, he could physically feel his heart breaking in his chest. He promptly scolded himself for the sentimentality.

_For God's sake, Remy, it's not like you leavin' forever! It's gon' be four days_

At the same time though, Remy wasn't sure how Olivier would react to being apart from him for so long. He fondly remembered having to pick up Olivier from Jeffy's house at approximately 2:30 AM, much to Mrs. Bennett's chagrin. From then on, it was agreed that all future sleepovers take place at the LeBeau residence.

Clutching the doorknob tightly in his hand, he began to ease the door shut.

"Poppa?"

Startled, Remy froze, silently cursing to himself for being so clumsy. Figuring that the boy was up anyway, Remy pushed open the door just enough to see Olivier sitting up in his bed, furiously rubbing his eyes with tiny fists. His eyes glowed a soft green as his vision adjusted in the dark. He sat up in his bed as he squinted at the door.

"Poppa, izzat you?"

"Oui, Oli. It's me."

Quizzically, Olivier tilted his head to the side, as if he were puzzled by something. Lazily, he drolled, "Yer goin' to work now, huh?"

Remy was struck by how nonchalantly he posed the question. "Oui, Oli. I'm gonna be gone fer a few days, but I don' want you to worry. I'll be back real quick." He strode over to the head of the bed, and knelt down so he was eye-level with the boy.

Cocking his head to the side, Olivier grinned lazily at his father. His uneven brown hair spilled messily over his face. For a split second, it was if Remy finally saw his son for the first time. He always knew that Olivier shared his physical features, people told him as much, but he had never noticed their similar mannerisms and expressions. His errant thoughts were soon interrupted.

"I'll miss you, poppa."

"Oh…" Remy couldn't help but be touched by how matter-of-fact and poignant the moment was. It was like a punch in the gut. Immediately, he swept the child into his broad arms, hugging him tightly, savoring the weight of his head against his shoulder. "I'll miss y'too, cher."

After a moment, a muffled voice squeaked,"Daddy?"

"Hmm?"

"You're squishing me!!"

"Huh? Oh!" He released the boy from his grips. "Sorry, Oli." Clumsily, he tried to flatten his son's mussed hair. Olivier squirmed in resistance. "Now, I want you t'listen to me, okay? I'm puttin' you in charge of de LeBeau household while I'm gone."

Empowered by this newfound responsibility, Olivier straightened up, listening alertly. "I expect you t'take care've your mom for me. And de baby." He nodded vigorously.

"I wan' you to make sure dat she's happy. An' that she's not workin' too hard cleanin' the house or helpin' you wit your homework. An'…" For a moment, Remy was distracted by a rising swell of guilt as the enormity of the situation began to sink in. "…An' dat….dat she's eatin' enough ice cream."

Remy recoiled at the ridiculousness of the statement, but he couldn't help but smile as his son continued to nod absently, his head drooping slightly lower and lower each time. Satisfied, Remy gingerly eased his now slumping son back between the covers, nudging his toy back between his hands. Quietly he tiptoed out of the room and shut the door, pausing only to blink away the slight mist which had gathered in his eyes. Reluctantly, he shouldered his bag and embarked on the unpleasant journey known as working life.

Most of the ride to the mansion was a blur. It was early enough that Remy did not have to worry about traffic, so he pretty much drove on autopilot until he pulled back to the familiar iron-wrought gates. Already falling into a routine, he rolled down the window and pushed the button on the intercom.

"Welcome to Xavier's Institute for the Gifted Youngsters, how may I help you?"

Chiding himself for not coming up with a witty response ahead of time, he responded "Remy LeBeau… reporting for duty."

If the voice on the other end thought that he was in any way humorous, she gave no indication. "Headmaster Summers told me to be expecting you. Pull around to the garage, and I'll give you a parking tag and your schedule."

Remy furrowed his brow. _Schedule?! _Admittedly, he really wasn't sure what to expect on his first day of work. But the idea of a predetermined schedule was a little more "Office Space" than he had anticipated. With a sinking feeling in his gut, Remy rolled forward.

Eventually he made his way to the check-in area, where a young, pink-haired teenager was making no effort to hide the fact that she was watching what seemed to be baby pandas on YouTube. Other than the hair color (which was probably artificial anyway) there did not seem to be any indication that she was a mutant, as much as an incredibly bored secretary. If she noticed his approach, she did not make any indication. Looking over one more time, Remy's eyes fell on a manila folder that had "Gambit" written in red sharpie sitting by the keyboard.

Tentatively, he tapped at the window partition. "Uhm… hello?"

Without averting her gaze from the LCD screen, the girl touched the folder with her fingertips, and in a glow of pink, it disintegrated from the counter and materialized in Remy's hands. Dumbfounded, Remy opened the folder. There was a packet of about 20 sheets of paper, with a note scrawled on Institute letterhead paper-clipped on top:

_Gambit, _

_For your first day, you will shadow and audit a few classes. I paired you with some of your former teammates. I will get reports from them, and we can debrief during your off period. Please be on time._

_Warm Regards, _

_Scott_

Remy rolled his eyes. _Who actually signs a note "Warm Regards"?_ He didn't have much time to dwell, when he realized that first period would be starting soon. Not wanting to make a poor impression, he jogged up the stairs toward the Medlab C.

Remy really wasn't sure what he was expecting to see when he got to the floor level, but he was totally unprepared for the scene which would bombard him as he opened the door. There were young mutants scampering throughout the building, filling the hallway with electrical hums, glittering clouds, unidentifiable smells, and the occasional slime trail. These unusual things were accompanied with what you would attach to a normal "high school"—chattering students, rap music, namebrand clothing, and energy drinks. All the color and noise made Remy immediately think of a fantastical setting such as Willy Wonka's factory or a Harry Potter toy shop. For a moment, Remy forgot that he was a mutant himself, not having needed to use his powers in years. He knew it was a ludicrous thought, but it seemed when he was an X-Man, mutation used to be much simpler. The thought made him feel old. In all the hubbub, he accidentally bumped into a turquoise-skinned child. He was about to excuse himself when the child split into two half-sized but otherwise identical versions of himself, both giving Remy a dirty look as they walked around him.

Still in a bit of a daze, Remy slowly made his way into the Medical Bay. The cool, sterility of the steel walls and fluorescent lighting was a welcome relief from the sensory overload; it was if closing the door muted all the sound and chaos around him. His footsteps echoed as he rumbled down the hall, peeking into the office doors and windows, unsure of who he was looking for.

"Hark, is that the prodigal Cajun I hear?"

A grin spread on Remy's face as he followed the baritone voice towards the back.

"Bete? Is that you, mon ami?"

Sure enough, momentarily Dr. Henry McCoy rolled out on a computer chair, clad in a worn Eric Clapton t-shirt, jeans, and a fitted labcoat. He promptly leapt to his feet, approaching Remy with open arms.

"Remy! My good friend, it is a pleasure to welcome you back."

Before Remy could protest, he was engulfed in a furry, bone-crushing hug. Despite his shortness of breath, he couldn't deny the warm swell of affection that spread through his chest. He shifted his pinned arms as best he could to awkwardly pat Beast's arm.

He managed to gasp, "Glad to see you too, Hank."

"Oh my! It seems that I have been overzealous in my gestures of salutation." He quickly released him. "How is dear Rogue? Is she doing well?"

Remy tenderly rubbed his ribs, wincing slightly. "Jus' holdin' de fort back home." He took a moment to examine his surroundings and realized that he seemed to be in a pediatric ward. Apparently the medlab had been redecorated to appear more child friendly. His curiosity overcame him, and he blurted, "What'm I gonna be doin' here?"

Hank arched a furry eyebrow behind his moon-shaped glasses. A little embarrassed, Remy tried again. "I jus' don' know how helpful I can be down here is all."

Hank smiled genially. "Ah, but before one can enter the marble halls of academia, one must attack the steely fortress of bureaucracy." At Remy's confused look, Hank pulled a pen from his coat pocket and looked deliberately at the file clutched in Remy's hand. He had completely forgotten about it. Hank nodded his head at the nearest desk, and when Remy was seated he started riffling through the pages. He quickly realized that they were a variety of forms. He looked up desperately at Beast, who offered, "I'll be here in case you need help." Begrudgingly, Remy flipped to page 1: "New Employee Verification."

It was slow-going work. Towards the end, the forms were columns of miniscule text with a single blank line for his signature. Remy knew better than to sign without reading the proverbial fine print, unfortunately he was never that fast of a reader. Finally, he reached the final page, which seemed to be a medical form. He was about to start the tedium of filling out his surname, when he noticed a headline in bold: **To be filled out by a physician only. **

"Hank?"

"Ah, you have finally reached the finale."

"Oui, but it says…" Remy looked around the room and realization began to dawn on him.

"I surmise from your look of utter distaste, you have deduced our ulterior motives for having you report to me before assigning you to any students."

"What? To make sure dis old fragile body has been keepin' in shape?"

Beast chuckled heartily as he began to pull various medical supplies from the seemingly endless supply of metal drawers, while still talking. "I assure you it's just a formality. In all honesty Remy, I'm not sure your unique mutant physiology would allow your body to revert to anything less than peak human."

Remy scowled and crossed his arms like a stubborn child.

Beast continued, his voice rumbling over the metallic clank of various medical instruments hitting the tray. "Then again… your physical condition may have nothing to do with your mutation, rather your seemingly endless fount of undeniably masculine, but nonetheless narcissistic ego."

At that, he gave Remy a friendly wink, and Remy couldn't help but crack a smile. Obligingly he began to unbutton his shirt as Hank placed the stethoscope to his chest.

"Relax, Remy. We have most of your medical history on file, we just need to make sure your aforementioned manly body can handle the daily rigors of dealing with schoolchildren. This will be no worse than an annual physical from your friendly neighborhood physician. And don't worry… I haven't forgotten that you've always carried a certain…aversion to medical treatment. I'll be gentle."

He pulled out a garish neon-orange tongue depressor. "I apologize if some of the tools or even my own methods appear childish. With mutation manifesting with increasing frequency at a younger age, the headmasters thought it would be prudent to ensure our students felt as comfortable as possible. So in the words of countless pediatric healers before me, 'Say 'aaaaah'."

As promised, the rest of the exam went quickly and painlessly. When Hank shrugged off his jacket, Remy took that as a signal to begin dressing again. "So what's de verdict, doc?"

"Well, I am happy to pronounce a clean bill of health. You (and your lovely wife, for that matter), have apparently been blessed with the mutant power of aging exceptionally gracefully. My only recommendation would be that you pace yourself in the danger room sessions if you have been out of practice."

Despite the doctor's flattering words, Remy couldn't help but bristle slightly at the implications. "You sayin' I'm gettin' slow, Hank?"

"Well… I daresay you are encroaching upon what we in the business call 'middle-aged.' But if you are concerned, there so happens to be a way we can get a preliminary prognosis on your athletic level." Beast was grinning like a small boy trying to suppress a secret.

Remy eyed him suspiciously. "What did ya have in mind, Hank?"

Beast responded by nodding at the file.

Remy rolled his eyes, unsure of what he was supposed to look for. At that moment, he heard the bell ring. Instantly, his eyes fell on the schedule. Immediately, he saw what Hank was so excited about:

**Second Period- Physical Education, Gymnasium.**

He groaned as a set of grey Xavier Institute sweats flew at his face.

* * *

**A/N**: Again, I must apologize for the delay between updates. I hope it's obvious that I've been developing these scenes in my head for a while now. The next couple of chapters are really the parts of the story I'm most excited to write about, and I just want to make sure the wording was perfect.

Just a sidenote, originally this chapter was meant to cover his entire first day of work. As I started typing, though, I realized it was going to be exceptionally long. I really felt badly about the long breaks between updates, so I thought I'd go ahead and split it in two. You won't have very long to wait until the next update, as I've already started writing it. In the meantime though, feedback or comments are always appreciated. )


	11. First Period

A few minutes later he was dressed out and waiting anxiously in the gym, trying his best to look inconspicuous as the young mutants were stretching and chatting on the floor. When the bell rang, he noticed quite a few eyes turn to him. He was surprised to find the attention unsettling. He tried his best to feign nonchalance as he shrugged and looked away. The children seemed satisfied that the new adult wasn't anybody special and resumed their respective conversations.

"What's the matter, Gumbo? Afraid you'll step on teacher's toes?"

Remy and the rest of the student's perked at the sound of the gravelly voice. Sure enough, none other than the X-legend Wolverine came sauntering from the locker room, clad in his timeless white wifebeater, torn jean shorts, and sneakers. Each of his steps was accentuated by the dribble of a basketball, resonating on the hardwood floor. Remy knew better than to feel intimidated by Logan's theatrical entrance, but he couldn't help but notice how the students were suddenly on their feet, trying their best to look busy. A low growl emitted from Logan's throat.

"Oh cut the crap, will ya kids? At ease. Gather 'round, we got ourselves a special guest today." Logan clapped a hand on Remy's shoulder.

Obediently, the children sat at his feet, looking at Remy with a newfound admiration. Apparently, being introduced as Wolverine's guest meant something. Remy shifted uncomfortably in his seat, but Logan seemed to savor the rapt attention. "Kiddos, if any of ya actually did any of yer homework and studied the Danger Room tapes, you woulda recognized this gentleman next to me."

The students leaned forward in eager anticipation. Logan stayed silent but nodded at Remy, prodding him to introduce himself. Remy suddenly realized this would be the first time he had addressed a group students. He tried his best to swallow his panic and answered as casually as he could. "Uh… hi guys. My name is Remy… Remy LeBeau."

Remy was met with a bunch of blank stares.

"Oh!" Suddenly, a green reptilian boy sat up, and pointed at Remy with a clawed finger. "Gambit! You're Gambit! X-Men Blue!"

The name recognition was instantaneous, and the gym erupted with excited chatter. Logan smirked at Remy, obviously feeling like he just did him a great favor. After letting the students prattle for a bit, Logan cut them off. "Alright, alright, let's keep our panties on. But yes, Toby nailed it. You are sitting in the presence of ex-X-Man Gambit. He fought alongside yours truly and the rest of the blue team against the Acolytes, Onslaught, Apocalypse, and the other big heavy hitters back in the early 90's. Gumbo's just watching our class today, but pretty soon you may see him in the classroom, and maybe some of you unlucky ones will actually have training sessions with him."

Remy was shocked to see all the students' eyes light up (some more literally than others) with what seemed to be a newfound respect. "Would anyone like to ask Mr. LeBeau any questions?"

Instantly, a flurry of hands shot into the air. Leaning over so only Remy could hear, Logan growled, "They're all yers, Cajun."

"_Didja really go toe-to-toe with Mr. Bishop using a blueberry pie?_"

"Technically it was boysenberry…"

"_I heard you tried to steal Juggernaut's power gem!"_

"Er…stealin's wrong?"

"_Have you ever met Daredevil?_"

"Yeah, just once…nice guy"

"_Your wife is hot_!"

"Um…thanks?"

"_Show us something!!" _

For a split second there was silence, followed by an eruption of agreement.

"_Yeah show us something!"_

"_Do one of your card tricks!"_

"_Blow something up!!"_

"Uhhh…" Remy hadn't the faintest idea how P.E. class in Mutant High was supposed to be, but he doubted it involved "blowing things up." Panicking, Remy looked at Wolverine in desperation. Logan looked almost bored as he was twirling the basketball aimlessly on his fingertip. He took his time to acknowledge Remy's eyes boring holes in him. He shrugged casually. The man's smugness was infuriating. "Waddya say, Cajun? Show them somethin' good."

With that, Logan roughly thrust the ball into Remy's chest. Instinctively, Remy's hands easily caught the ball, but it took his mind a moment longer to process what he was supposed to do. He looked down at the ball puzzled, and felt a hotness in his cheeks as he realized the entire class was staring at him—waiting for him to do…something. Something "cool." The feeling was unnerving. Normally he would be able to flirt and charm his way out of awkward situations, but with children it just felt…wrong. He averted his gaze away from his audience and looked up at Wolverine again, pleading. Logan was grinning widely, creating gnarled crinkles all over his face. He seemed to relish Remy's discomfort, but mercifully he tilted his head towards the goalpost with an expression that screamed "Duh."

Remy uncomfortably dribbled the ball a couple times, painfully aware of the rapt attention the students were paying him. "Dere's… really nuthin' special…"

Absently, Remy released the ball. He followed it with his eyes, making a graceful arc before floating into the basket. Promptly, he jogged over to catch the rebound. From his new position to the side of the goalpost, he shot the ball again, unsurprised that he made the basket. Again, he picked-up the ball to make another attempt from the new location, this time farther away. Acutely aware that he was still being scrutinized, Remy just concentrated on the task: _Shoot. Rebound. Shoot. Rebound._

After making a few more consecutive baskets, Remy felt the pressure ease as he found his stride. He started to anticipate the alternating rhythm of dribble-swish, dribble-swish. His mind was beginning to drift, as it always did whenever he was doing any sort of physical exercise. He'd learned early on that if he cleared his mind and let instinct preside, his kinetic abilities would take over and get the job done. During Danger Room sessions, Cyclops would complain that Remy acted too impulsively, without considering the repercussions. Although he would never openly admit it, Cyclops was exactly right. Concentration means thinking, and overthinking leads to sloppy mistakes. Secretly, Remy always compared his mindset to a milder, cleaner version of Wolverine's berserker instinct. While Wolverine would lapse into mindless rage, Remy's mind shifted into mindless indifference. It was this laissez-faire attitude that made him so elusive and difficult to target. For years, mutants and thieves alike regarded Remy as a brilliant strategist who had the uncanny ability to correctly predict (and therefore evade) enemy reactions, hence his codename. Some went so far as to conjecture that one of his mutant powers included inexplicable luck. Remy never bothered to tell anybody otherwise, since that rumor served him well in the battlefield. The absolute truth of the matter, however, was one of Remy's most closely guarded secrets: the reason Remy was such a difficult combatant was because his body, adapted to a mutation based entirely on kinetic motion, reacted faster than his brainwaves. Most of the time, Remy himself would have no idea how or where his body would land—it just always seemed to react perfectly.

_Speaking of which_… Remy snapped back into the present, not even realizing that his arms were automatically shooting the ball again. Knowing that he was going to make the basket, he snuck a look at the children whose eyes were glued on him, although some seemed to be getting restless. He estimated that he must have been shooting perfect baskets for the last two minutes or so. He stole a look at Logan who faked an exaggerated yawn. Remy smirked at the challenge. Feeling much more confident, Remy's natural showman came through as he theatrically addressed the students. "Mes amis, now that I'm all warmed-up, perhaps you're ready for de real show, non?"

Without waiting for a response, he tossed the ball over his shoulder while keeping his gaze at the students. He surmised from the series of gasps that the ball reached its intended target. Reverting back to his "autopilot" mode, he began to take dramatic liberties with the otherwise simple task of shooting the ball.

Somersault-slam dunk. A backwards left-handed lay-up. Jump split with ball thrown between the legs. Shooting the ball in midair, and subsequently rebounding and re-shooting the ball within the same jump. And just to show-off, Remy pulled one of his favorite tricks: covering his eyes with his hand, proceeding to shoot and catch the ball one-handed using his tactile instinct alone. After one final spectacular slam dunk in which he dangled on the rim for a split second, Remy proceeded back to the center of the gym. He was elated to find that he was being welcomed by raucous cheers and applause. _They like me! They actually think I'm cool! _

Feeling remarkably heartened, he flourished into an exaggerated bow. For a few glorious moments, he relished the euphoric feeling of basking in praise. He was grinning stupidly when a purple-haired boy raised his hand.

"That was so cool! How'd you do it?"

Remy tilted his head quizzically. "Sorry?"

"Your agility. How can you focus it like that?"

Remy furrowed his brow. "I'm sorry… I don't understand your question." Although he had no idea what the boy meant, he couldn't ignore the impending feeling of dread that was growing in his stomach.

"You've gotta have level 3… maybe 4 dexterity. But is it psionic or self-generating?"

"Uh…I'm not sure. It just kinda happens…" Even as Remy stammered the words, he could feel the heat spreading through his cheeks and he quickly averted his gaze to the floor. He nervously ran his fingers through his hair before stuffing both fists into the front pocket of the hoodie. Mercifully, at that moment Logan stepped forward and interrupted. "Don't answer that Cajun, make 'em work for it."

Remy felt the knot in his stomach loosen slightly, but he couldn't deny the embarrassment of being so thoroughly stumped by what looked to be a 13 year old. He held his breath and watched as Logan began fielding questions.

"Somebody give me a level estimation for that type of agility?"

Several hands flew into the air, and Logan pointed randomly.

"Uhm…peak human condition?"

Logan cocked his head as he considered the answer. He seemed unconvinced. "Possibly… but anyone got any other ideas?"

A precocious looking blonde girl spoke up next. "Maybe…adaptive superhuman?"

Logan nodded with satisfaction, obviously liking this answer better. "With some mutants, it can be difficult to tell the difference between beta mutation and unmodified sapien reflexes. But given the Cajun's primary mutation, this possibility seems much more likely. Somebody give me a type analysis. And anybody that was plannin' on saying projectile energy can save their breath. We're just talkin' about based on this demonstration."

A few of the younger students deflated slightly, initially thinking it was an "easy" answer. There was quiet chatter as some of the more advanced students discussed the question. A boy in the front wagered a guess. "Uh… could it be energy conversion?"

"Eh….not so much. The kinetic energy was constant, and we really didn't see it materialize into any alternate translations."

Remy's eyes darted back and forth between the teachers and students, trying his best to follow the discussion. Aside from recognizing some of the terminology, he really had no idea what anybody was talking about. Remy was used to this type of jargon from the likes of Forge and Mr. Fantastic, but he never would have guessed Wolverine had that type of expertise. He was more shocked that the students seemed to be comprehending the content perfectly. Gambit recalled his War Room days, when a target was simply defined as "alpha" or "beta" level mutant. As discreetly as possible, he started to retreat from the group as they threw out more guesses.

"What about echolocation?"

"Hmm… not a bad guess. But we know Cajun's mutation is tactile-based, not aural. Someone try again."

"Is precog an option?"

Logan cocked his head to the side, pondering the option. "Hmmm… Well, Cory gets the prize for most creative. I'll haveta think about that. Give me some endurance drills and we'll recap at the end of class."

When the students didn't immediately respond, Logan bared his canine teeth and uttered a menacing guttural growl. "Drills, NOW!"

Promptly, the students leapt onto their feet and clumsily made their way over to the far end of the gym. A few of the noticeably older students began setting up cones and randomly dividing the students into groups. He barely noticed when Logan crept up next to him. "Damn…why can't they move that fast whenever Pryde is giving me a teacher's evaluation?"

Remy continued to watch, fixated, as students began running, weaving routes back-and-forth between the cones. A few of the students stayed on the sidelines blowing whistles and timing stopwatches. It all seemed so…organized. After a moment, Remy was startled to feel Logan's hand in the crook of his arm. "Walk with me, Cajun."

Shaken from his reverie, Remy obediently followed Logan to the bleachers. They both sat down on one of the front benches. "So…"

Remy wasn't quite sure how to broach the subject, and absently began flattening his hair. "Those were some pretty fancy terms you were usin' back dere."

Logan chuckled, a bark-like sound. "Don't let all the b.s. fool ya, Cajun. When Summers took over, he had the bright idea of making us take classes in the science of mutation. Continuing education, he called it."

Puffing up his chest and deepening his voice, Logan playfully wagged his finger in an exaggerated imitation of his longtime leader. "_How can we expect to teach the next generation of mutants, if we can't explain the physics ourselves?"_

Remy chuckled politely, but it did not help quell the sense of doubt that was edging into his mind. He sincerely hoped he had not made a rash decision in returning to the institute. "I dunno, frere. I ain't never had much luck in de classroom."

"Heh, you think you had a hard time. You shoulda seen Hank. Poor guy had to listen to Summers plod through 5 hours of Power Point slides on stuff he probably learned in grade school. If it were up t'me, he'd teach the damn class himself, but Emma thought it would be a good opportunity for Scott to 'establish himself as the new authority.'"

When Remy did not look any more convinced, Logan, squeezed his shoulder bracingly. "Hey, don't sweat it. It's not nearly as bad as it looks."

Remy shrugged defeatedly, not having any response. Logan opened his mouth as if to say something commiserating, and then stopped himself as he thought better of it. Wryly, he asked, "So… how's my godson doin'?"

It was a thinly disguised attempt to dissipate the situation, and Remy welcomed it. Talking about Olivier came much easily easy. Remy would be the first to admit that he was one to make lots of lofty claims, but being a father was something he _knew_ he was good at. They spent the rest of the hour catching up, right until the bell rang.

* * *

**A/N:** Apologies again for the delay. Thank you to all those who have taken the time to review. I guess I really did need the "boost" to get back to this story, although this chapter has actually been finished and sitting on my computer for some time. Like the last chapter, I intended to put the entire first day into one section, but as I started writing, I really began to envision the tiny details in my mind, and it just kept growing and growing. As such, I've had to split it up, not unlike a school schedule. =D Up next, second period, with more familiar faces. Please keep the reviews coming. In addition to keeping me motivated, it helps me improve as a writer.


	12. Second Period

For second period, Remy was assigned one of the upstairs classrooms. As he walked through the hallway, he could not help but wonder at the hustle and bustle of students slamming lockers and chatting on cell phones. It made him feel old.

As he neared the room, he decided to avoid any further embarrassing situations by waiting outside the classroom. He secretly hoped he could convince the instructor (whoever it may be) into just letting him observe, rather than putting him on the spot. Anxiously, he waited in the hallway, stealing a few peeks into the room as students started filing in. From the looks of it, it was a normal classroom – desk, chalkboard, whiteboard. For all intents and purposes, it seemed like a regular class. At that moment, Remy realized how remarkable it was that for all his years at Xavier's "School," their teams rarely seemed to do any actual school work. Then again, with all the mutant crises that were going on at the time, there was very little time for actual schooling. Perhaps Professor Xavier considered all their missions, whether they were to Brazil, Israel, or Asteriod M, as "field trips."

"Remy! Oy, Remy!"

Startled, Remy looked around to follow the voice. From the other side of the hall, he could see the silhouette of a slight figure clutching a briefcase and briskly walking towards the class. Although he could not see him, Remy immediately recognized the distinctively light, graceful movements of the man coming toward him. He couldn't help but smirk.

He called out in his patois. "Jean-Paul? _Est tu_?"

Sure enough, within seconds, Jean-Paul Beaubier, clad in a smart but tight-fitting simple black suit came bounding toward him with open arms. "Remy, _mon ami_."

Northstar smiled widely at Remy with his delicate, almost feminine elvish features. His narrow lips split into a wide grin, and his dark eyes seemed to glisten with delight. Promptly, Jean-Paul swooped Remy into an indulgent hug and planted a kiss on each cheek. Remy, ever the gentleman, responded in kind, although not nearly as enthusiastically. Jean-Paul had always insisted on greeting him in the traditional "French" way, despite the fact that everybody knew that he was in fact Canadian, and Remy was in fact American. For whatever reason, Jean-Paul had always looked upon Remy as a kindred spirit, even though all that was ever really shared was French as a distant second language.

"_Como c'est vas, mon cher_?" Jean-Paul wrapped an arm comfortably around Remy's waist, ushering him to the classroom. Any passerby would assume that he was just acting French. Although he would never admit it out loud, Remy always secretly felt Jean-Paul's mannerisms toward him were always a bit overly demonstrative. He suspected that Jean-Paul had always harbored a secret crush on him. He fondly remembered when Northstar first joined the X-Men, how often they seemed to be paired in Danger Room sessions. The thought was not bothersome, as Remy was always secure with his own sexuality, and Jean-Paul never seemed to assume otherwise. For this reason, Remy was always more than happy to return the physical affection. As such, Remy brought his own arm around Jean-Paul's narrow waist and gave him a gentle squeeze. He couldn't help but notice a bit of pink begin to spread over Jean-Paul's pale cheekbones. As far as Remy was concerned, it was just harmless flirtation.

"You look a little done-up for sparring, non?"

"Ah, mais, non. I have never cared much for the physical training." Jean-Paul made a dismissive gesture with his hand. "I am much more interested in the arts and humanities. Lord knows we could use a little more culture in this mansion. And thankfully, we finally have a headmistress with fine enough tastes to appreciate it"

Remy stifled a loud laugh at the thought of Emma's white thigh-high stripper boots being associated with anything remotely close to "finer tastes" Still, curiosity got the better of him. "So what're we doin' today?"

Jean-Paul smiled warmly, and opened his arm proudly. "_Mon ami, bienvenu á notre classe française_."

Remy shook his head in disbelief. It made no sense. "Seriously? French?"

Jean-Paul looked positively affronted. "_Mais, oui_. But of course. You are surprised?"

"What de hell are we preparin' 'em for? France isn't particularly a hotspot for mutant terrorist activity, is it? I don't t'ink Magneto is goin' to be stormin' the Louvre any time soon"

Jean-Paul shook his head in a way that was simultaneously genial and condescending. "Remy, Remy, Remy. You think too narrowly. Not every mutant that comes through Mutant High is preparing for a career in mutant rights vigilantism. Some of them just want to go into the work force. You know, accounting, government, technology – that sort of thing. And if we are to properly prepare the students for professional success in a competitive economy, we should provide them with solid foreign language skills. As hard as it may be for you _X-Heroes_ to comprehend, some of us mutants are perfectly fine leading _normal_ lives with _normal_ careers."

Remy found the irony of that statement both insulting and amusing. Then again, he and Jean-Paul had never been particularly close. He had fought on Rogue's team for a while, but they did not keep in regular touch outside of the mansion. It was entirely possible that he had no idea about the situation which brought him back to the X-Mansion in the first place, and there was no reason to interpret it as a personal attack (not to mention that Northstar was always kind of a dick). But the words still cut deeply, reminding Remy of his most recent failures. In his experience, trying to lead a "normal" life is challenging, when your entire family is anything but. He did not have time to mope, however, as he felt a hand against the small of his back, guiding him into the classroom. "Come, Remy. I'll show you the more… cultured side of Mutant High."

The pang of depression he was feeling was quickly replaced by undeniable panic. "Jean-Paul wait! I don't know anythin' about verbs and spelling and all that! I can't even speak proper English!"

"Nonsense, Remy. You'll be fine. You're just observing today." Jean-Paul winked mischievously. "It's still my class."

Remy felt the knot in his stomach lessen slightly, but he couldn't shake the feeling of impending doom.

As then neared the door, Jean-Paul advised, "Just remember to articulate-- speak slowly and clearly."

Remy nodded. He could handle speaking slowly, that wouldn't be too difficult. He began to feel his heartrate drop, but before he could even begin to relax, he felt himself being roughly shoved into the classroom. It took his eyes a split second to adjust to the brightness of the fluorescent lights. As he regained his focus, he saw a classroom full of 15 teenage students staring at him inquisitively from behind individual desks. He began to feel a hot flush rushing to his cheeks. _Not again..._

Thankfully, Jean-Paul swept in in an unnecessarily flamboyant manner. "_Bonjour classe_!"

On cue, the classroom droned in a lackadaisical chorus, "_Bonjour Professeur Beaubier._"

Remy noticed more than a couple pairs of eyes rolling, but if Jean-Paul noticed any sign of class disinterest he did nothing to acknowledge it. "Class, we have a _very _special guest with us today. He will be observing our session today, so please do your best not to embarrass me. Monsieur LeBeau, would you like to tell us a little about yourself?"

"Er.." He could feel his cheeks flushing again.

He heard the officious sound of a throat being cleared behind him. "_En francais, sil vous plait."_

Jean-Paul leaned in and hissed into his ear, "Just give us a few complete sentences. Take it slow and exaggerate the long vowels. And the last section we covered was past perfect subjunctive,so if you could throw some of that in, it'd be great."

Remy's eyes widened in alarm, but before he could ask for any clarification, Jean-Paul had retreated back to his desk, grinning warmly at his guest in anticipation. More and more, Remy was beginning to remember why nobody ever wanted Northstar as a teammate.

Not knowing what else to do, he reluctantly began speaking. "_J'mappelle Remy LeBeau. J'etais né a la New-Orléans. Je suis marié avec un enfant._"

As he spoke, he was surprised to find that speaking in French seemed a lot less intimidating than English. He felt infinitely less self-conscious than he did in the earlier period, and it was reassuring to see some of the students nodding along. He was surprised at how gratifying it felt to know that they were able to comprehend his sentences. When Jean-Paul instructed the students to ask him some questions, he was surprisingly at ease, even moreso than he was in English. Part of it had to do with the simplicity of the questions. The students would pose a question, and he would reciprocate using the same rote sentence structure. In his head, the artificiality of the dialogue sounded comical.

"Do you have any pets?"

"No, I do not have any pets."

"Do you have any brothers or sisters?"

"Yes, I have one older brother."

"What is your favorite food?"

"My favorite food is Cajun food."

"What are your hobbies?"

"My hobbies are dancing, exercising, and playing with my son."

"Were you an X-Man?"

"Yes, I was an X-Man."

"What is your job?"

"..."

Everything was going well until that moment, and he could feel the the tingle in his skin as his cheeks began to redden in both surprise and shame. He didn't know why, it's not like the students had any idea about the drama going on in his household. He could have said anything - accountant, sculptor, engineer, manager, assassin, space cowboy- and they would not have known the difference. As he stammered, the harder he fought for an answer, any answer, the more elusive it became. _Mon dieu, just say __**something**__. _He was drawing a complete blank.

Thankfully, at that moment an impatient Jean-Paul interrupted by clapping twice, drawing the conversation to a close. More than likely, it had less to do with Jean-Paul's sensitivity as much as his short attention span, a side effect of his mutant power. Either way, Remy appreciated the reprieve. "Class, let's take a break from these questions. I want to make sure there is enough time to complete our reading modules."

The room let out a collective silent groan. Again, Jean-Paul gave no indication that he noticed any level of exasperation from the class. Remy wondered whether all teachers eventually become immune to that type of response. Jean-Paul called out a few page numbers and instructed the students to answer questions about the reading.

Amid the sound of papers shuffling and pages turning, Jean-Paul spoke quietly to Remy. "This is the easiest part of the job-- they read really slowly, and it kills lots of time. You just walk around the room --it's called circulating-- and look over their shoulders to make sure they're working. It gives you a chance to answer their individual questions."

With a wink, he added, "Want to circulate with me?"

Remy paused a moment, convinced that it was some bizarre double entendre. Jean-Paul apparently interpreted his silence as affirmation and brusquely shoved him over to the far side of the room. Remy fumed silently at being unceremoniously thrown into yet another uncomfortable situation, but the anger quickly subsided, being replaced by panic. For a couple minutes, he just watched from his corner of the room as Jean-Paul lightly flitted about the classroom, briefly hovering over each student. He observed the motions and interactions -- he would nod at one student, smile encouragingly at another, occasionally engaging in a low conversation. He was surprised by the seeming intimacy of the relationship that Jean-Paul shared with the students. It was nothing inappropriate, but Remy could not recall a time in his life when he ever felt comfortable in a classroom. He silently wondered whether teachers developed a bond with all their students, and for a split second, he was worried that he would be expected to make that type of emotional investment.

Awkwardly, Remy began making his rounds. He did not recognize any of the young students; as such, he did not feel comfortable engaging them. Rather, he just stiffly paced around the desks waiting for a student to initiate contact. After a few minutes of silence, a boy in the third row looked up from his book and raised his hand. Remy hustled over anxiously.

"Yes?"

"I don't know this word."

Remy looked at where the boy was pointing in the text. "Oh, it means a cold. Not bein' cold, but like, bein' sick. Does that make sense?"

The boy nodded. "Thanks."

Feeling slightly empowered, he visually scanned the room for any other raised hands. At that moment a different boy raised his head from the book and looked around. He saw that Jean-Paul was occupied with another student, so he eventually made eye contact with Remy. Remy quickly swept across the aisle.

"I'm havin' problems with number 4."

Remy furrowed his brow as he read the question first. Leaning over, he pulled the book towards him so he could read the text. He scanned the text as quickly as he could, wishing once again that he was a faster reader. It took almost a full minute, but he finally found it. He handed the book back to the student, and pointed to the sentence. "Dere-- that's the answer."

"Okay, cool. Thanks"

Remy couldn't help but feel a little bit proud of himself. Newly emboldened, he began to circulate the room more assertively, pausing even without provocation in case the students did have a question. A word translation here, another difficult question there. More often than not the students were struggling with the same questions, so he could answer very quickly. Remy began to think that maybe Jean-Paul was correct about this job being easy. He stole a glance at Jean-Paul who was leaning against the wall, silently evaluating Remy's performance. Eager to please, Remy went to the next student and answered the question. He looked up hopefully at Jean-Paul, and was perturbed to see the teacher shaking his head. Remy replayed the last few seconds in his head, but for the life of him, could not figure out what he possibly did wrong. He took a few steps back as Jean-Paul pulled him aside.

"Remy! Have you been _telling_ the students the answers to the questions this whole time?"

_Is this a trick question? _"Uhm... yes?"

Although Jean-Paul was hissing under his breath, he was gesticulating hugely with his hands. "Remy! You cannot just _give_ the students information."

"Right....why not?"

Jean-Paul shook his head in disbelief. "Because it's too easy! And if we just tell them, they cannot learn, _non?_"

Remy nodded unsuredly. "So... what do we do?"

"We _elicit_ the information."

"Right..."

Jean-Paul impatient rattled off what he seemed to think was a coherent explanation. "Do comprehension checks of the material, pose leading error correction questions, that sort of thing."

"..."

Jean-Paul gave an unnecessarily exasperated sigh. "Just watch me, Remy."

Remy obediently followed as Jean-Paul leaned over to a blonde student in the front row. "What's going on Alexis?"

"I don't know this word."

"Okay, so let's break it 's the part of speech?"

"Uhm... a verb, I think."

"And why do you think that?"

"Because the ending... it looks like a past tense."

"So with that ending, what else do we know?"

"Well... I know she's the subject, and I know the object is the box."

"Mmhmm....Now use your context clues. What could it mean?"

"Uhm... I don't know. Cutting or opening... Does it mean open?"

Jean-Paul beamed widely at the student. ""I don't know, does it?"

The student seemed completely satisfied with the non-answer, and she began scribbling furiously. Remy marvelled at the ease of the interaction. Jean-Paul shuffled over. "Okay Remy, now you try." He pointed to the corner, where a freckly red-headed student was raising her hand.

Nervously, Remy sauntered over to her desk. "Yes?"

"What's this mean?"

He looked at the word and felt his stomach drop. The word was "kumquat." Hopelessly he peered over his shoulder back at Jean-Paul who gave him another wink and a thumbs-up. Swallowing, Remy turned back to the student. "I don't know, what do _you _t'ink it means?"

The student gave him an insolent look. "I have no idea what it means."

Remy felt prickles on his neck."Uh huh....Well, what _do _you know?"

"Excuse me?"

"Umm...that came out wrong." He thought he caught a glimpse of her cheeks reddening behind her freckles. His mind was racing to recreate the scenario he observed with Jean-Paul, but it was a blur. "What I meant was, did you find the clue words?"

She looked puzzled. "What, is it like a riddle or something?"

Remy slowly opened his mouth as if to say respond, and at that moment the bell rang.

* * *

**A/N** Hello again everyone! I feel like I start every note with an apology. My computer was out of commission for a couple weeks, so I had no way of publishing the Fanfic, although lately I've been dying to work on this story. Thanks to everybody for their reviews and words of encouragement. I am determined to finish the story this summer-- I have the rest of it mapped in my head. I'll have the next section up very soon (it's just a short little preview), and I am really eager to do the next couple of chapters. They are the ones that are the most complete in my imagination.

I hope you guys think this chapter was worthwhile, it was one I enjoyed writing. As always, any feedback is greatly appreciated.


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